Missing Ink

by E J Frost

  “You’ll call every day? You won’t forget?”

  “Every day. Seventeen hundred. Our time, kid. All those years I was away, I never forgot our time, did I?”

  She sniffs and wipes her face with her free hand. “No, you never did.”

  “I’ll call and you’ll answer and we’ll talk about what you think you want to be without the drugs. You don’t have to tell me anything else if you don’t want to. But we will talk about that.”

  “Okay, Dad. I’ll think about it.”

  I lean in and kiss her forehead again. “I love you, kid. I loved you before you were born, and I’ve loved you every minute of your life, and I’ll love you when we’re both just stardust again. Never forget it.”

  She sniffs and the tears roll. “I won’t.”

  She doesn’t say she loves me back. She hasn’t since she was fifteen. That was the first overdose, on her mother’s fucking diet pills. That’s when I found out her blood type and realized she couldn’t be mine biologically. That was when I realized I didn’t care; she’d always be my daughter. That was the first time she looked at me with those dark blue eyes from a hospital bed and lied about wanting to live. I have to believe she’ll find something to live for this time, because I’m not sure either of us will survive another overdose.

  When the white coat returns, we hug our goodbyes and I walk them out. There’s a van with “New Horizon Rehabilitation Center” stenciled over a stylized sunrise on the side. The wheelchair goes straight up a ramp into the back and she waves before the door closes.

  I wait until the van pulls away before I head back into the health services center to complete Naomi’s discharge paperwork.

  *****

  A shower and a change of clothes, a short call with Naomi to make sure she’s gotten to the facility safely and a much too-long call with Amy, during which she makes it clear again that Naomi’s addiction is my fault for being an absentee father, and I’m back at Logan’s just before twenty hundred. Emily pulls me into a hug as soon as I’m through the door, then drags me to the dining table where she sets a steaming plate in front of me.

  Logan and another man, who Logan introduces as Cappa and I vaguely remember meeting at Logan and Emily’s collaring, join me at the table. It’s clear that they’ve already eaten when Emily puts drinks down in front of them but no food, because that little girl would feed the whole world if she got the chance. Emily fusses over the second man, propping him up in his chair with a pillow from the couch, before going to kneel beside Logan’s chair. Cappa looks like he was on the losing end of a heavyweight bout: his brow, eyes, cheeks, lip, and jaw puffy and purple with bruising, a long bandage along his cheekbone covering what I have to guess are more than a few stitches. From the way he’s sitting, he has broken ribs and some stitching down below, too. He doesn’t offer to shake but smiles hesitantly around his bruises.

  I don’t miss the plain, leather collar that sits just inside the neck of his T-shirt, either. It looks exactly like Brenna’s.

  “You’re part of Logan’s club?” I ask him gently, because injuries aside, there’s something fragile about this fellow.

  “Yes, sir. I’m a house submissive.”

  I figured. “You know DirtyGurl?”

  Cappa nods. “She’s one of my best friends.”

  “I think she’s very special,” I say, which makes Cappa’s eyes widen as much as they can with the swelling. “What do you think she’s looking for in a Dom?”

  Cappa glances at Logan, who nods. Cappa chews at his lip before he remembers his injuries and winces.

  “I think she’s looking for someone who won’t let her down,” Cappa says slowly.

  Whether he knows about me abandoning her the other morning or it’s simply an inconveniently-timed truth, it’s a direct hit.

  “Has she been let down before?” I ask.

  Cappa nods, before glancing at Logan guiltily. “Sorry, Master Logan.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Be honest with Master Mac. If the Blunts Doms have disappointed DirtyGurl, or you, you can tell us.”

  The or you sounds pointed, and I wonder what’s brought Cappa here to Logan’s house, where all things wounded seem to congregate.

  “I’m not being critical, sir,” Cappa says. “I just think some of the members aren’t as clear as they could be about not getting involved with house submissives outside the club.”

  Is that how the Blunts Doms have treated Brenna? And this fragile man-boy? Bastards. No wonder she was so surprised I took her to lunch before our scene. If she’ll let me back in, I foresee a lot of dates in Brenna’s future.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I tell Cappa, around bites of savory Hunter’s Chicken and cous-cous. “I’d very much like to date Brenna as well as have her as my submissive. What do you think her perfect date would be?”

  Cappa grins, then touches his fingers to his split lip. “Take her to a video arcade. She’s a shark on those old eighties’ games. She didn’t—” He breaks off with a glance at Logan, sighs, and continues, “She didn’t grow up with Xbox or PlayStation. She’ll tell you she wants to go to dinner or a concert or whatever you’re into, but if you really want to see her happy, take her to an old arcade.”

  I salute him with my beer. “I play a pretty mean game of Frogger myself, so that sounds like a great date to me. Much better than dinner and a movie.”

  “She likes movies, too. Chick flicks and anything with Channing Tatum in it. She’ll tell you those movies are sappy and stupid, but take a box of Kleenex, sir, because she’ll be crying at the first kiss.”

  I chuckle. That sounds like my salty-sweet sammie. “What’s her favorite movie?”

  “Dirty Dancing . Don’t tell her I told you. She’ll kill me. And she’ll deny it to her last breath. But she loves it.”

  “Really?” That does surprise me. “Can she dance? I know she has an old hip injury.”

  Logan and Cappa trade chuckles.

  “Wait until you see her dance, sir.”

  “That’s what she does at Blunts,” Logan tells me. “The house submissives work various jobs at the club. Brenna’s job is dancing in the nightclub. She puts on a hell of a show.”

  How have I missed my dirty girl dancing? Doesn’t matter, this is my opportunity. “Lo, could I persuade you to take me to your club tonight? Seeing Brenna dance is about the only thing that could make this day better.”

  Logan rubs his hand over his mouth. “Cappa, you’re grounded, so don’t even think about it. Emmy, you’re on babysitting duty. You’re allowed to give Cappa a sponge bath. Cappa, you’re in our bed tonight. Emmy, mind your bedtime. If we’re not back by then, I want a picture of you in bed at ten of twelve. Cappa can read you one bedtime story. One, not three, so don’t you try to wheedle more out of him the way you do with Niall and Max, little girl.”

  The top of Emily’s head is visible over the edge of the table and she bows it. “Yes, Daddy. But it was only two, not three.”

  Logan strokes her head. “You are such a mischief. Do not be tempted to bend my rules while I’m out with Master Mac. You will not like the results.”

  Emily tips her head back and peers up at Logan. “Owie paddle results?”

  “I’m thinking more owie clothespin results. I’m feeling very fond of clothespins at the moment, after sticking them on Cappa’s tongue. I don’t think you want to know where I’d put them on you if you’re a disobedient girl.”

  Emily shivers and bows her head again. “Super good girl, me.”

  “Mmm. For the sake of your sensitive bits, you’d better be. Club closes at two, so Mac and I won’t be any later than that. You will not wait up under any circumstances, little girl. Am I absolutely clear?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Good girl.” He leans over and kisses the top of her head. Then he shoots a grin at me. “Boys’ night out it is, then.”

  I do the dishes while Logan takes Emily upstairs and gives her what I gather is a pre-emptive paddling. When
he returns, he’s in a gray, three-piece suit and brings me a dry-cleaning bag with a navy-blue suit inside, plus a white dress shirt and a checked tie.

  “Unofficial dress code,” he explains. “You’ll see everything from full frontal to dungeon leathers at the club tonight, but most of the management committee wears suits in the evening and so do our guests.”

  “Thank you.” It’s not a perfect fit since Logan’s a little taller and broader than I am, but it doesn’t hang off me, either. “Can you talk about the inner workings of the club with me or is that off-limits?”

  He meets my eyes squarely. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Ever.”

  I swallow against the tightness in my throat. Sometimes this man’s faith in me rocks me more than a little. “What the hell is going on at this club that Brenna and the boy feel so abandoned?”

  “I don’t have an answer for that,” Logan says as he hands me a pair of plain, silver cufflinks. “They’ve asked me back as Master of Training. That means I’d be supervising the house submissives, including Brenna and Cappa. I could try to get to the bottom of what’s happening. Why the house subs aren’t getting what they need. But it’s a huge commitment, Mac. And Emily . . . she has to be my priority.”

  “Of course, she does. But something’s seriously wrong, Lo. Brenna honestly believed she couldn’t submit anymore. No submissive should be left in that kind of doubt, even if she is a handful. And what happened to that boy? He wasn’t getting what he needed at the club, so he went out into the big, bad world and found that ? You know something like that should never happen.”

  Logan nods mournfully.

  “You always did take too much on your shoulders, Lo. Share the burden. Maybe you don’t have to do everything yourself.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Is it something you’d be willing to help me shoulder?”

  The question rocks me back on my heels as I finish a Windsor knot. “You sure?”

  “You’d need to become a member. I’ll sponsor you and make sure of the vote, sir, but you’ll need to prove you’re a master before I could delegate anything to you.”

  “What is there, an exam?” I ask, wryly.

  Logan grins. “Series of scenes. At least you know you’d have a willing victim.”

  I hope so, because she didn’t sound very willing at two a.m. But she said she’d had a long day. Hopefully she got some sleep, and some coffee, and she’s in a better mood. Or at least a little less dismissive.

  “If Brenna’s dancing tonight, can I still do a scene with her?”

  Logan nods. “She’ll be scheduled for an hour on and an hour off so she’s available for scenes.”

  “With anyone?” The thought tightens my gut. It shouldn’t. We’ve done one scene. I have no claim on her.

  But I want to.

  “Any member or their guest,” Logan confirms, leading me towards the door where we slip on coats and shoes.

  “Damn.”

  “Mac, tell me to fuck off if it’s none of my business, but do you think Brenna’s built for monogamy?”

  “Built for it? From what I’ve read, no human animal is built for monogamy. It’s a choice. One we make every day.” I follow Logan out onto the street to wait for our cab, pulling the door closed behind me firmly, until I’m sure the lock’s engaged. The idea of leaving Emily and that injured man-boy vulnerable to the predators in this big city makes my stomach churn. “Do I think Brenna will make that choice if someone actually meets her needs? Yes, I think so. One of the things I was listening for in her fantasies was whether they were single or multiple partner. Even with the abduction, when she wasn’t sure if she was being used by more than one man, it was always single partner. But, if she has a deep need to be shared that I haven’t seen yet, I can work with it. So long as her submission always belongs to me.”

  Logan rubs his chin. “You’ve thought about this.”

  “Quite a bit.”

  “Again, no judgment because I started planning to keep Emily after our first night together, but are you sure you’re not jumping in with both feet because you’re looking to put down roots? Is this about Brenna or is it about wanting a submissive?”

  I contemplate his question as our Uber pulls up in front of the house and we climb in.

  “It feels like it’s about Brenna,” I say slowly, thinking it through. “She engages something in me I haven’t felt since the early days with Amy. I know I shouldn’t compare them—”

  Logan waves his hand. “It’s inevitable. I did it with Miranda and Emily, too.”

  “Did you feel this constant . . . I don’t even know what to call it, Lo. I want to be with her all the time. These past two days have been hell, not just because of Naomi, but because the whole time I’ve been dealing with my daughter, I’ve been thinking about Brenna.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, I know that feeling. I hate to tell you, but it doesn’t really get any better.”

  “Fuck,” I grumble. “I’m doomed.”

  “You are.” He elbows me.

  We ride the rest of the way in companionable silence.

  *****

  Logan’s taken me to his club a few times. I’ve worked out at the state-of-the-art gym with him, swum laps in the indoor pool, enjoyed a hot towel shave in the spa, and eaten several meals worthy of a Michelin star in the restaurant. Ironically, for a sex club, I haven’t had any sex there yet, although I’ve watched some very hot scenes, including a menage which happened poolside that still fuels my dreams.

  But I haven’t been to the club at night. And I haven’t been to the club’s nightclub.

  Logan directs the cab driver around to a different door, at the other end of the huge building from the restaurant. There’s a line to enter and there’s none of the heavy security of the entrance into the main club, just a burly, black-suited bouncer guarding the door. Logan doesn’t bother with the line. He walks right up to the bouncer, who immediately nods and unclips a red rope, beckoning us forward. I follow Logan through a huge, steel door the bouncer opens for us.

  Before we’re even a step down the wide stairs, I’m assaulted by sound. The air fills with a pounding, electronic beat that immediately makes my temples throb. Brenna’s dancing better be damn good if I have to endure that racket while I’m watching her. It’s warm, too. A humid warmth that can only come from sweating bodies packed together. Way too warm for what I’m wearing. Logan sheds his coat and suit jacket, folding them over one arm, and I follow his lead.

  “There’s a coat check for members by the bar,” he says, his voice nearly drowned by the music. “We don’t use that one.” He nods at a coat check booth as we pass it.

  The stairs open into a huge space. It must run half the length of a city block, stretching back through a dance floor crammed with at least two hundred people, ringed with private booths, towards a massive glass and chrome bar. A dozen cages are suspended above the dance floor, as is a DJ booth. The whole area is lit with strobing purple and white lights, which pick out the four dancers currently in the cages.

  Although there are a lot of wild hair colors in the bouncing, whirling crowd, there are no blue dreadlocks anywhere.

  Logan leads me along a path between the dance floor and a row of private booths. The walkway is lit from underneath and whether it’s an unspoken accord or some posted rule I missed, the dancers stay off the thick, white tiles.

  When we reach the bar, Logan walks to the far end which is roped off with another red rope. Logan unclips the rope, motions me to the bar, and clips the rope back behind us. It’s quieter here at the bar, whether because we’re away from the DJ’s booth or because the bar area is soundproofed, I don’t know, but I can hear the individual voices of the crowd at the other end of the bar.

  A bald man almost as big as the bouncer outside immediately moves down the bar and holds his hand across the polished wood expanse to Logan, who shakes.

  “Tee, this is Mac.”

  The big bartender reaches his hand to me. Afte
r we shake, he takes our coats and jackets. They disappear behind the bar.

  “What can I get you?” he asks.

  Logan knows what I drink, so I let him order and am pleasantly surprised when the bartender reaches up to the top shelf and pulls down a bottle of High West Bourye. He pours us generous measures into tapered bourbon sippers and sets them down in front of us. Logan shakes the bartender’s hand again and he ambles off back up the bar to serve the three-deep waiting crowd.

  Logan lifts his glass and I tap it with mine before taking an appreciative sip. Mmm, spice, straight up. It fills my palate and wrinkles my nose. Logan grumbles with pleasure. I savor the berry and vanilla flavors as they develop across my tongue and fade into a nutty sweetness.

  Logan sighs after setting his glass back on the bar. “I need to buy a bottle of that for the house.”

  “My treat,” I say. “Least I can do, Lo.”

  He smiles and shakes his head. “You’re doing me the favor.”

  “How do you figure?” I ask before taking another sip of nirvana.

  “Perfect excuse to get an eighty-five-inch telly. Emmy can’t expect us to each have less than forty inches.”

  I snort. “That’s an excuse you’ve been working on for a while.”

  “Damn straight,” he responds as two men open the red rope and elbow up to the bar next to him.

  “Rob, Harry,” Logan greets them.

  I tip my chin to Harry, a gray-bearded, bear of a Dom in full leathers. Logan introduced me to Harry as a fellow motorcycle enthusiast years ago when I visited New York on leave. We’ve done a couple of rides together and he’s taken me to meet his brothers in the Rolling Blue Motorcycle Club chapter he belongs to in New Jersey. I liked the bikers, all of who are ex-military or law enforcement, and have spent several days with them, most recently on a charity ride in September. Some of them gave me tips for transitioning back into civvy life that have come in handy.

  I’ve also had a very quiet, very off-the-record conversation with Harry about his trips with one of the club submissives upstate, to a retreat with bikers who are not ex-military or law enforcement. They’re very much at the opposite end of the spectrum. I’ve declined Harry’s invitations to join their get togethers because I wasn’t comfortable with a gangbang being the first scene I did with one of Logan’s club brothers. And because some of the bikers are one percenters and, having had run-ins with one percenters when I lived in Florida, they make me a little nervous. But if I had my own submissive to bring to the retreat, that would be a different thing. I might even be able to work Brenna’s abduction fantasy into it. The thought makes me smile into my bourbon.