by Kat Kenyon
My baggage may be heavy, but it’s mine, and I’ll be damned if I hand it to someone who’ll ransom it back to me the minute they can.
That feeling doesn’t change after my second session; the therapist seems genuinely caring, but I still don’t say anything. Then, I have a brief meeting with Arnowsky, who promises they’ll get me out after we go over the details of the case. But I know it’s not him who cares, it’s Tyler. Later I’m rushed into a private session with a therapist that Arnowsky requested in court.
When I walk in, the woman sitting at the desk looks more like a mom than a doctor. We have similar coloring, similar appearance, only she’s a bit heavier and a decade older.
“Please take a seat, Rayne.” She motions to the chair, her folded hands and placid face pissing me off. She works for the same hospital keeping me against my will.
Sitting slowly, I cross my legs at the ankle and give her a hard look.
She gives a small, hmm. “My name is Vanessa Hanson and I’m a licensed therapist here. I specialize in trauma.”
“And you’re here to help.” I smart off without thinking.
“I am. We all are.”
“I beg to differ,” I snap, having to bite back the worst of the rage and take a breath. “Ms. Hanson, several of the techs are still trying to physically intimidate me. This hospital was told what happened to me, and it’s still retaliating.”
“You did bite,” she says, raising her brows.
“They attacked me.” My lungs pump even as I remind myself to stay calm. If I don’t, I’m never leaving. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t defend yourself?”
Waving at my file, she begins, “I’ve read the court file, and it’s regrettable—”
Regrettable?
Roaring heat shakes my body, and I stand and head for the door.
“Where are you going?” Confusion is clear in her voice.
“Regret is for buying the wrong dress,” I say, facing the door. “Regret is for the wrong hair color or missing a date. It’s not for what the cops or this hospital did. It’s not for taking me against my will. Or for stripping me. You don’t get to regret drugging someone to make them do what you want.” I turn and glare at her. “You sit there and say it’s regrettable they touched me…” I close my eyes, my head falling back because I need the tears just behind my lids to fall back into my brain instead of down my cheeks. “If you want to help, don’t excuse what’s happened here.”
Shock drops her jaw as I walk out without giving her time to recover. I hear her say something behind me but I don’t stop. If I don’t get out of here, I’ll do something that might allow them to keep me in this place.
When I get to my door, it’s open and sitting on my bed is exactly what I need.
His hair’s wet, making the brown several shades darker and finger-tousled like he’s run his hands through it multiple times. He’s kicked backed on my bed, eyes on my Kindle. There’s a tilt to the corners of his lips and his jeans cling scandalously to his strong legs and hips, showing off muscle and a thick bulge he can’t hide. For a moment, I shudder from the memory of how good it feels to have him inside…and almost break at the idea I’ll never really be with him like that again.
Before he can see it, I blink away the moisture and focus on the way his long-sleeved black T-shirt molds across his chest, showing off his arms. He’s still massive, but all the work he’s done to slim down has made him a tightly packed machine. It’s something that’s always made me feel safe. Even when he was raging, I never thought he’d hurt me. He’s done other types of damage, but physical wasn’t one of them. And somehow, I know he won’t hurt me again.
Tyler protects me.
He must feel me, because he looks up from the bed and smiles. Waving my Kindle, he pushes up, reaching for me. Falling into his arms, he warms me from the outside in, and I greedily welcome him to combat the cold that permeates my soul.
“This is not your homework,” he teases, tapping my shoulder with my Kindle, as I settle into his lap.
Laughing, I drop my head to his shoulder to hide my blush. I know what he saw…and I’m not apologizing. My romance book has kept my mind off this place in a way that statistics just doesn’t. “Nope. It’s better,” I mutter.
“I don’t recall you mentioning an affinity for dirty books, woman.” His smirk and tone make it sound so scandalous.
“It’s a romance novel.”
“Puhleeaase,” he says, dragging it out. “This little porno delivery device has you eyeballing cocks, pussy, and begging for more…” He looks back at my Kindle and laughs. “Shit, baby, there’s stuff in here I wouldn’t dream of.”
Which means he didn’t just look, he was reading my book. I could be embarrassed, but my romance has been a safe way to feel something again, and his shock is funny. “Did you see the part with the cock ring?”
“No!” His face contorts as he looks back at the screen and then back at me. He’s not sure if he’s turned on or scared now.
Giggling, I wrap my arms around him.
“Wait, is there really a cock ring in this book or are you fucking with me?” he asks, pulling back to look at me. With the way he’s laughing, I can’t tell which answer he’s hoping for.
“I guess you’re gonna hav’ta read it now, aren’t ya?”
He shakes his head subtly as his hands sneak up my sides. When his fingers dig in, I find myself laughing as he tickles me, chasing me onto the bed as I try to escape. “Is there a cock ring or not, tiny girl?”
“I’m not telling!” It doesn’t take long to find myself out of breath and underneath his heavy body. Laughing into his chest, I tell him, “You have to read the book. It’ll ruin the fun if I tell.”
“Were you always this dirty?” he asks into my hair.
“In my reading habits, yes. Though you’re well aware I’m open-minded. And I’m curious now.”
Pushing up to look at me, I can feel the object of my curiosity pressed into me as he leverages his body on his hands and hips. “I’m scared to ask, but curious about what?”
“What your big dick would look like sporting a cock ring,” I joke.
Instantly his body freezes and I laugh, nearly choking at how stiff he is. I wait for his comeback, because I know him; he’ll have one. Besides, the image of that baseball bat in a cock ring has to hit him too.
His voice is husky when he opens his lips over mine. “Baby, I’m fucking hot. I’d make a cock ring look like a ten-carat diamond ring. It’s that precious, gets that hard, and it’s way more fun in your hand and you know it.” His smile busts out and I’m dragged back to other moments of supreme confidence from this man.
So cocky.
Everything falls away and I kiss him. Tasting isn’t nearly enough, and I wrap my legs around his hips and try to pull him to me. For a horrible second, I have a flash of fear, hesitating, and I don’t have a chance to undo it, because he feels it and pulls back, sitting next to me.
We’re quiet for a couple minutes, and during the silence one of the techs comes around and says hi, and moves on.
It breaks my heart. I don’t want to be afraid, and yet, I don’t know how to move forward. “Don’t stop kissing me,” I say quietly.
“I don’t want to—”
“I’ll tell you if I do. But fucking kiss me, Tyler.”
Stretching up, I press against his trembling lips, demanding he gives me what he says is mine, pushing past the sharp blades of my fears and terror, giving myself over to the part that belongs to just him, just us.
And we taste sweet.
I plant myself in the now and slowly, he responds, moaning into my mouth, letting me know he’s here.
“I want to so bad, baby,” he says, groaning into my mouth, pulling back again.
“What’s stopping you?”
I nearly cry. His hesitation hurts. I don’t want to be broken. This isn’t who I want to be, and I’m practically waiting to hear him tell me that what I am now just isn’t eno
ugh.
“I’m not fucking you where they can watch.” He rolls to hide me from the door, looking back at the window.
I’d forgotten about it, but his reminder creeps me out. It’s yet another thing about this place that invades and shreds my personal space. As my skin prickles, Tyler’s hands gently stroke up and down my arms, his lips humming into my hair.
“No one needs to see you test drive my rusty dick to see if it still runs right.”
I snort so hard I shock myself and descend into laughter. “Tyler Blackman, there’s no chance in hell your dick doesn’t work.”
His brow cocks. “I don’t know, it’s been in the garage awhile. Oil’s old, lines are frozen. I know the brakes don’t work…shit, this machine needs a tune-up.” His wide grin makes the edges of his eyes crinkle. “You’re going to have to be careful next time you play with it; it might leak, blow a gasket, crash and—”
The image of his dick leaking and blowing is all it takes to leave me dying of laughter next to him, my stomach practically cramping, my ribs aching. An even better image comes up in my mind, Tyler’s dick with a giant cock ring, leaking with pre-cum, and well, fuck that’s not quite funny, but it’s an amazing image.
The tech peeks in again, and we both laugh. This conversation is definitely one not to be shared with the general public, but as I look at his face, fuck if the image of him in my head doesn’t make breathing a little harder.
As my giggling fades, he catches my mood. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Tipping his chin, he narrows his eyes at me. “No. What’s that look mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Baby, I will tickle it out of you.” His fingers drift to my hipbone.
“Just thinking of you in a cock ring.” My fingers graze the length of him through his jeans, and I watch his eyes practically roll back into his head. “Leaking…” I can’t help the amused and sexy smirk the image leaves on my lips.
“I like the way you think.” His fingers graze my hips, shaking me. “But, if I’m wearing that, a pair of nipple clamps will be in use.” His tongue licks his bottom lip before his teeth scrape across it hard, and the visual of him squeezing my nipples comes unbidden, tightening them in anticipation.
Hmm…he’s the one with a pain fetish. Although I admit, he turned me on to it when we were first together and it jumped into overdrive when we got back together.
Like all my other fears, I’m scared that intensity is lost to me. Biting the tip of my tongue, I sweep away the ugly thought by teasing him. “And were those for you or me?”
“Smart-ass, they’re gold and would look amazing on your tits.” His eyes shift, turning golden, as they drift over me, focusing on my chest, then refocusing on my own. “Yeah, tweaking those pretty nipples from pearly pink to a bright red.” Rolling his eyes, he shakes his head and kisses my forehead before he flops back on the narrow bed. “Fuck. We’re gonna stop, because my dick is hard enough to hit a homerun.”
“You sound like you already have some.” My mouth quirks wondering why this is the first I’m hearing of it.
“I don’t have them per se, but I know what I want on you,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment, lost in thought.
I draw my hand down his sternum and look up. “We’ve never talked about toys.”
“We don’t need toys. We don’t need shit. Does that mean I’m closed to anything you want to try? No, I’m not. Have I had so many dirty thoughts about you I should have my brain power-washed with bleach? Yes. We’re only talking about them because of that crazy-ass book on your porno device, which I might remind you, is dirty as fuck.
“I’m open to anything you want to try, talk about, or are curious about. When you’re ready, we can play with dildos or fiddlesticks, for all I care. I love seeing you come regardless of how you get there. Some of that shit seems weird, but I’ll keep an open mind because it must have some purpose or people wouldn’t like it. There are other things I’m man enough to admit scares my balls so far back up inside me, I can’t find ’em.”
The idea of him being scared of sex toys makes me laugh so hard I can’t breathe. He grumbles and laughs with me as I devolve into painful stitches.
“You think it’s funny my balls might vanish?”
“Your balls are too big to vanish!”
“You think? Some of that shit is scary.” His sexy smirk answers me right before he kisses me.
The roar of emotion nearly rocks me out of the moment. I have to shake my head to let him know I’m okay as his eyes flicker over my face, checking on each change in my mood.
“I know, you cocky bastard, your balls are bigger than the state of California.”
He just grins, eyes lit with humor. My own personal light tower.
And this is how you guide me home.
Chapter Sixteen
Tyler Blackman
“They moved the appeals hearing, and now it’s in four days,” I say, wanting to pull my hair out. I’m trying to be nice because Rayne always said Anne did her best to take care of her, but I’m not feeling it. I contacted her when Rayne was taken and I’ve kept her updated, but the tone of this call has left me wanting to chuck my phone.
“What will be covered?” Anne asks.
“Everything. From the original warrant to her being physically detained and assaulted, at least that’s our point of view. We’re going after them for retaliatory medicating, everything.
“My lawyer thinks we can show the first judge didn’t show due diligence to hold her over the first time. There’s more than enough to find the hospital acted improperly and she should be removed from their care. He’s confident he can show no one on the State’s side has had her best interests in mind.”
Anne pauses for a moment before asking. “And where is Emily in all of this?”
She’s brought this up before, and I’ve assured her I have Rayne’s POA. She doesn’t believe me. “Gone. She never had any say. Not legally anyway.”
“Emily Donahue is never gone,” she hisses. “You need to be prepared for her to reappear.”
“She can try.” I roll my eyes and toss the decorative pillow to the other end of the couch, throwing my head back, stretching out my aching quads.
“These things never go the way you hope they will,” she chides me, like she’s talking to a child, and it makes me grind my teeth.
“Rayne’s mine to take care of. I’m getting Rayne out of there. As for Emily, I’ll handle her. She’s done enough damage.”
A long sigh comes across the line before she says, “We do need to get this over with. The scandal’s bad for everyone. The reporters are starting to show up with questions.”
My teeth snap shut so hard they should shatter. She’s been smart to be subtle up till now, but she just crossed a line.
Rayne may think Anne cares about her, but all Anne gives a shit about is her employer, and I could give two fucks about what’s good for Lawrence Mathews. And now that the media has caught on that she’s related, all he cares about is managing the damage, not her. Which means I’ll be damned if I allow him anywhere near her.
I keep my voice controlled to avoid raging. “I get you have to worry about Matthews’ interests, but I don’t.”
“Don’t misunderstand, Tyler,” she rushes to say. “We all want what’s best for Rayne.”
“Sure.” I shrug my shoulders and push off the couch. “I’ll let you know how things go after the hearing. If things go the way we expect, you’ll be talking to her.”
“That’s what we all hope. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Pushing the end button feels hollow when what I want to do is slap the shit out of someone. Or at least slam down one of those old-fashioned phones Granddad still has in his office.
Lingering suspicion sticks in my mind, like the glue used to attach stickers, it never really comes off, leaving a residue that collects dust. It gets filthy…just like Mathews, who puts a price tag on the family he doesn’t want.
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I don’t trust him, which means I don’t trust Anne, regardless of how much money he’s put out for Rayne. He didn’t call or check on her himself after the attack. He’s not here now. He left her alone to survive and—I see red.
He left her alone.
Her blood and bruises blind my eyes.
With that woman
Her pain deafens my ears.
In that house of horrors.
Her rage roars from my lips and drywall disintegrates like chalk, the smell a bitter reminder of my own hellscape of bruises and broken bones, the taste coating my tongue.
It’s not about me.
It doesn’t matter that I got to see her today and she seemed stable. Her father left her in that house with an addict. Her grandfather left her with a woman who brought abusive men home. Men who kept coming after her, and they have the balls to worry about themselves when that same malignancy puts her in a psych ward. After an attack. Which they have, for all intents and purposes, ignored.
I wind up to strike again, but hands grab me, pulling me back, one pulling back on my arm and one on my shoulder to make sure I can’t jerk away.
“If you want to flip out, do it so you don’t break the one good hand you have,” Sam says from behind me.
He’s calm, unaffected, but his arms are locked and he doesn’t release me until I nod in agreement.
“How’d you know?” I ask, shaking out my arm, and taking a look at my bleeding knuckles.
There’s a barely perceptible grin when he says, “You mean besides the crash of you breaking the wall?” Shaking his head, he points where I dropped my phone. “Grab that and come with me.”
Snagging it from the floor, I follow him out the open apartment door and past the other security team member. When we get to the elevator door, he pushes the button for the basement. “You were roaring.”
“I was?”
A subtle nod and his bulky arms cross over his chest. He’s wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt, showing his hands and forearms covered with burn scars. Each burn is defeated by intricate and bold tattoos that celebrate and flick off the damage. He’s more than a survivor, and when he talks, you listen. “Listen, I know it doesn’t feel like you’re getting your money’s worth. You hired us to protect her and she’s not here. You hired us to catch Stevens, and we haven’t found him. But, we will. I swear to God, Ty, this shit will work out.”
