by Ashe Barker
Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
A Totally Bound Publication
Hard Choices
ISBN # 978-1-78430-038-8
©Copyright Ashe Barker 2014
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright May 2014
Edited by Sarah Smeaton
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Melting and a Sexometer of 3.
The Hardest Word
HARD CHOICES
Ashe Barker
Book three in the Hardest Word serial
Is true submission the one thing money can’t buy?
A month with the Dom of her dreams. Just one month to learn all that he can teach her, as well as to convince him that he’s the Master she wants. The Master she needs. Forever.
But her training ended in disaster when Nick asked her to do the one thing she could not willingly accept—hand her body over to another Dom. Alone again, confused and heartbroken, Freya tries to rebuild her shattered life. However, soon she has no choice but to appeal to Nick for help once more. How will he respond?
Despite his insistence that their relationship is temporary, Nick has missed his silent pupil, and when she returns to his home he’s determined to keep her there this time. But when his family responsibilities intrude on their fragile truce they turn to an unlikely source for help.
Nick’s friend Dan introduces them to his friend Tom Shore, whose West Yorkshire moorland farm offers the perfect solution to Nick’s problem. Freya enjoys the company of Tom’s new bride, Ashley, and that of Dan’s enigmatic brother Nathan Darke and his brilliant submissive, Eva Byrne. And the surprise return of someone from Freya’s past further enriches her growing circle of friends. But when personal tragedy strikes, will her Master be able to set aside his bitterness at her betrayal or was their fragile relationship doomed from the beginning. When everything is at stake, both Freya and Nick face the hardest choice of all.
Do opposites attract, or are some differences just too wide to bridge? And is true submission the one thing money can’t buy?
Dedication
As ever, this book is dedicated to Hannah and John for their long-suffering patience, and to my mum for her unwavering confidence in me.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Vanquish: Aston Martin Lagonda Limited
iPhone: Apple, Inc.
Tesco: Tesco PLC
Dirty Dancing: Great American Films Limited Partnership
Back Into Hell: Meat Loaf
Kindle: Amazon.com, Inc.
If: Rudyard Kipling
Cortina: Ford Motor Company; Hyundai Motor Company
Google: Google Inc.
Land Rover: Tata Motors Limited
Porsche: Porsche AG
Wedding March: Felix Mendelssohn
Bolero: Maurice Ravel
Palladio: Karl Jenkins
Clio: Renault S.A.
Audi: Audi AG
Lloyds: Lloyds Bank plc
Crocs: Crocs, Inc.
Coke: The Coca-Cola Company
Pirates of the Caribbean: The Walt Disney Company
Bluetooth: Bluetooth Special Interest Group
Chapter One
As my brain clears, I start to work out what to do. Not that my options are many and varied exactly. The clearest certainty is that I need to get to A & E. That means an ambulance probably, or a taxi perhaps. Except the nearest taxis are in the town centre, a good ten minutes’ walk, and every time I try to get to my feet I feel dizzy. I can’t see me managing to walk into town. I’d end up under a bus more likely. And of course I can’t phone for an ambulance. I can’t phone anyone.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
I wish, for the umpteenth time, that Summer was still here. But she isn’t, and it’s a Saturday so Max at the bank won’t be in his office for another two days. And there’s no one else I can call. No one I can text. No one I can ask to help me. Maybe, in a few hours’ time, my body will be over the initial shock and I’ll be able to manage more than a few steps without feeling faint. I glance at the clock. It’s just going up to five in the afternoon now and I realise I’m looking at the possibility of being stuck here all night, unable to move, my wrist throbbing and swelling and turning all shades of purple in front of my eyes. I so need to be in hospital, I need X-rays and a plaster room. I know that people don’t die of broken wrists, but Christ, it fucking hurts.
How did I get to be so alone? I’m a nice person, mostly. I don’t have any family but I must have friends. Somewhere. I deserve to have friends. There must be someone.
I wonder about my new best friend, Pat, but he’s too far away and in any case I doubt he has my number programmed into his phone. He wouldn’t have any idea who the soundless call was coming from—he’d probably think it was some sort of crank. He wouldn’t put two and two together and realise I might need help. Summer hasn’t answered a call from me in weeks, but in my desperation I stagger across the apartment to find my phone, tucked down the side of my sofa in the lounge. I try to call her, clumsily navigating my way through my speed dial with my right hand to find the last number I had for her. The call goes to voicemail after a couple of rings.
I’m sitting on my living room floor, my injured wrist laid across my lap as I assess my dwindling options. There’s one person left who might, just possibly, be able to help me. Nick is nearby, hopefully. As far as I know he had no trips planned, this should have been the last day or so of my month with him so he might still be around the area. And, provided he hasn’t deleted me from his speed dial, he’ll know who’s calling from the caller ID. And he’ll know full well that I don’t make voice calls. He’ll realise. Surely he’ll join up the dots.
I grab my phone and find Nick’s number. I put the phone on speaker and hit call. And I wait.
“Hello?
”
If there were any tears left I could have cried with relief when I hear Nick’s voice come on the line. At least I’ve made contact. Now all I need is to somehow make him understand enough of my predicament to get him to dial nine-nine-nine.
“Freya? Is that you? Freya?” He sounds concerned now. And maybe a little exasperated. Christ, don’t let him hang up thinking I’m just messing about. My panic mounting, I do the first thing that occurs to me. I tap the phone. Twice. My safe signal, or one of them.
Silence. Then, “Freya, is something wrong?” His tone is softer now, and all concern.
He’s getting it, thank God. I tap the phone twice again.
“Right. Freya, if you’re there and listening to me, can you click into the phone? You remember, that clicking noise you can make?” His tone has hardened, businesslike now.
I grab the phone with my right hand and jam it to my ear, clicking as loudly as I can into the mouthpiece. This is working. It has to work. I knew Nick could help me.
His next words confirm it. His tone is calm now, in control. “Okay, I get it. You’re there. Now, one click means no, two clicks mean yes. So, Freya, is there something wrong?”
I click twice.
“You need help?”
Again, two clicks.
“Are you at your apartment?”
Two clicks.
“Right. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Can you wait that long?”
I’m stunned. I never expected that. He’s coming here! Actually coming. I just thought he’d suss out that I needed an ambulance and offer to make the call for me, get the paramedics here. I didn’t expect him to just drop everything and come straight round to my flat.
“Freya, is twenty minutes all right?” He sounds worried now, so I give him two quick, reassuring clicks.
“Right. I’m on my way.” The phone goes dead. But help is coming, so I sink onto my sofa, and I wait.
He’s here in just eighteen minutes. I’m assuming he was in Cartmel when he took my call, so even on his motorbike he’s broken a speed limit or two getting here. I guess that must mean something.
The welcome roar of his bike outside lets me know he’s here, then the sound is muffled as he enters the underground car park. I don’t see the bike, but I just know it’s Nick. Half a minute later my door entry system buzzes. I’m waiting by the door so I press the button to let him into the building, and take my front door off the latch. Then, exhausted by my efforts and overwhelmed by relief that my solitary ordeal is over, I sink to my knees.
It’s there, kneeling just inside my door, leaning against the wall with my injured wrist cradled in my lap, that Nick finds me moments later. He dumps his crash helmet on the floor as he crouches in front of me. “Christ, Freya, what’s wrong? You look awful. Ashen…” He knows I won’t answer so he does a quick scan and immediately spots my wrist.
“Bloody hell, love, that looks sore.”
I nod, tears once more coursing down my cheeks. He reaches out, his palm gentle against my cheek. “You need to go to casualty, Freya. Get it X-rayed, though I wouldn’t mind betting it’s broken. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
I shake my head.
Suddenly his voice hardens as a thought occurs to him. “Fucking hell, did someone do this to you? Shall I call the police?”
Again I shake my head.
Now he’s puzzled. “So how…? Did you fall?”
I nod then wince as another wave of dizzying pain washes through me. He sees it, and drops the questions for now.
“Right, can you stand?”
I nod and try to get to my feet, but find it just too difficult. I’m cradling my injury with my good arm, and I can’t seem to get my balance. Nick stops my efforts with a hand on my shoulder.
“Keep still for now. Where are your car keys?”
I look at him, baffled. Why does he want my car keys? He needs a phone, surely?
“The keys, Freya? Unless you feel like driving yourself…?”
Crikey! He intends to drive me to the hospital. All the way to the nearest A & E, in Barrow. Twenty-five miles away. Now this I never, ever expected. But the sense of relief that fills me as I realise I’m not going to be alone at the hospital is immense. I won’t be reduced to trying to explain my problem to people who don’t know me, not even able to fall back on signing or writing to get my words across. Nick might not know the details, but he does know how to communicate with me, how to pick up my signals. He’ll be able to help, and I feel safe as long as he’s here.
I point with my right hand to my bedroom. The keys are on my bedside table. I hope. That’s where I usually dump them. Nick heads off across my living room into the bedroom, before coming back a few moments later with my keys in his hand. He glances around the clutter of my living room, a wry smile suggesting he remembers my slovenly habits very well. He picks up my discarded jacket, which I had left draped across the back of my sofa, and crouches in front of me again to gently wrap it around my shoulders.
“Now, is there anything else you need?”
I make a phone gesture with my right hand, and he glances again around the chaos. I point to the floor in front of my sofa where I’d been sitting when I called him. My phone is still there, just where I dropped it when Nick hung up and I knew help was on the way. He strides across the room to pick it up, and has the presence of mind to then also grab my shoulder bag from the sofa. As well as my door keys the bag has my purse and credit cards in—so at least I’ll be able to buy myself a coffee at the hospital. And get back into my flat later. Coming back to me, Nick slips the phone into the pocket of my jacket before gently helping me to my feet. He holds onto my bag as he manoeuvres me out of the door, before making sure the latch is dropped as he clicks it shut behind us.
A few minutes later I’m safely belted into the passenger seat of my Vanquish and Nick is reversing out of my parking space. He exits the car park slowly, emerging up the slope leading to the outside world, then turns right to cross the bridge over the river, heading for the main road to Barrow. I know we’ve at least a thirty minute drive in front of us, so I lean my head back against the headrest and let my eyelids droop.
* * * *
I wake up just as we arrive at the hospital, a huge sprawling place that serves all of South Cumbria. Nick heads for a parking area close to the A & E entrance. He sorts out the pay and display before carefully extricating me from the car. His arm is around my waist as he leads me through the automatic doors and up to the A & E main reception desk. The helpful young man behind the desk smiles pleasantly at us.
“Good afternoon.” He turns to the screen in front of him, poised to start inputting details.
“Can I have your name and date of birth, please?” It’s obvious which of us needs medical attention so his question is directed at me.
Nick answers, brisk and businesslike, “This is Freya Stone. I don’t know her date of birth. I daresay she does, but she’s aphonic so she can’t tell you. Can we skip that bit for now? She needs to see a doctor.”
The young man’s interest is properly engaged now and he looks at me much more closely.
“Aphonic?” He looks from me to Nick then back again, clearly at a loss as to the implications of this information.
Nick helps out again, “No vocal chords, at least none that work.” A good enough description. Succinct. “So she can’t talk. And as she’s got a broken wrist in all probability she can’t do her usual sign language either. So we’re stuck with the information I can give for now.”
“I see.”
And I think he does as he types in a few more details then turns to Nick. “Could I have your name, please? Are you her next of kin?”
“My name’s Nick Hardisty. Freya’s my…girlfriend.”
I glance at him, astonished. He just smiles at me and continues, “She has no family, at least not in this country, so I guess I’m the closest she has to next of kin. You can put my name down. That okay with you, love?”
&nb
sp; He turns to look at me, and I just nod, my head whirling. Girlfriend? Next of kin? Not two hours ago I was totally alone, or so I thought. Now look.
“And how did this happen?” The receptionist is once more poised to fill in the blanks.
Nick turns to me.
“Not sure, actually. Did you have a fall or something?”
I nod, then in a moment of inspiration turn to point at one of the empty chairs in the waiting area. I use my right hand to simulate a tumbling motion.
“You fell off a chair?” This from the young man behind the desk. No flies on him. Perhaps aphonic women with broken wrists turn up at his A & E every day. Maybe he’s used to all this.
On a roll now, he plunges confidently on with his next question, “And how long ago did this happen, miss?”
Nick glances at me again. “Well, it was before five o’clock because that’s when you phoned me. Had it only just happened then?”
I shake my head slowly, trying to remember the sequence of events. How long did I sit there on my living room floor, wondering what the hell to do, who to phone for help? It seemed like a long time, but I suspect in reality it was no more than half an hour.
“How long then? An hour?”
I shake my head, using my right hand to give a ‘smaller’ signal with my index finger and thumb.
“Half an hour?”
I nod, and the receptionist glances at the clock on the waiting room wall. “Okay, it’s almost twenty past six now. So shall we say two hours?”
That sounds about right so I nod again.
“Okay, there’s more, but that’ll do for now.” He’s clearly decided he has enough information to at least let a doctor have a look at me. “Please take a seat and someone will call you into a cubicle soon to do an initial assessment.”
Nick thanks him, then we settle ourselves on the hard plastic seating arranged in rows across the waiting area. Less than five minutes later I hear my name being called on a loudspeaker system, asking me to go to cubicle three.
