She did her job on Monday, but it was like a hive of bees had been loosed in her head, driving her to distraction with their frenetic buzzing. As the day progressed, they migrated out through her body, crawling under her skin until she wanted to scream and claw the incessant irritation away. Sunday night she’d put her hands between her legs, rubbing uselessly, nothing there responding, even though she was wet just from the memory of Jon curved behind her, his cock against her ass. She’d known this would happen, hadn’t she? She was back in that place where her whole world seemed to be narrowing, darkening, and it scared her. She had so many feelings running through her she didn’t know whether to eat a consolation tub of ice cream or throw up what little she’d been able to eat.
All through her morning therapy sessions, she had a steel spring in her lower belly, tight enough to launch a cannonball. By lunch, she couldn’t handle anymore. She had to act or she would go insane.
There was a BDSM club in Baton Rouge. She’d found out about it a long time ago, when she’d lurked on D/s sites. Places where the open chat rooms felt like virtual meat markets, and the Doms’ online personas made her feel small and shrinking. She hadn’t been to such sites in a very long time, but during her sleepless Sunday night, she’d searched on the name of the club specifically—Club More, Baton Rouge. Perversely, she hoped it had closed down, putting it beyond the reach of temptation, but it was still there, with a current revision date for the website. Very little other information was provided, except the cover charge, operation hours and an offer to join the club mailing list she declined.
Regardless, the name—More—felt like a sign, an arrow demanding she go in that direction. She knew she was feverish, manic and it was the wrong thing to do, but no one would know her, and if it was a complete disaster, she could put this to rest once and for all. Jon called late afternoon when she was handling another appointment. When she saw the message show up on her cell phone, she forced herself to hit the delete button, even as her heart screamed at her as if betrayed.
She had to get herself back in control before she exposed herself to more of his irresistible persuasion. He didn’t understand that she couldn’t do this. Unfortunately, the rest of her didn’t understand either, and she had to fix that. Prove it was a mistake or see if she was strong enough to go down the path he’d re-opened in front of her. And she wanted to take that test alone, away from the eyes of anyone who knew her.
She had no idea what to wear. When she got home, she settled for a pair of dark slacks she thought hugged her curves in the right places and a thin white blouse. Under it, she wore a sexy black demi-cup bra. Severe blacks and whites, like her severe state of mind. Until she’d pawed through her mostly mundane underwear drawer, she hadn’t realized she still had the bra. It was something she’d worn for Cole a few times. It seemed patently appropriate to wear something of that life, so that she could remember why she couldn’t do this. Which of course didn’t quell her wary anticipation, her determination to go forward with it, test it under extreme circumstances. She didn’t know if she wanted to pass or fail this test, or if it would be the same thing either way. God, she was a pathetic fool.
It was in a seedy area of town, but that didn’t concern her. She knew as well as anyone that adult clubs weren’t accepted by the mainstream, fetish clubs least of all, and so they were relegated to industrial districts and trashy areas frequented by the criminal element. She had a Taser and pepper spray in her purse, and she knew to stay alert. There were about fifty cars in the parking lot, and at least there was a doorman. She saw him when she pulled up, a bouncer type all in black, with the club logo on his shirt. It was reassuring, but it was the only thing that was. She sat in her car, staring at that door. A black, one-story rectangular building with metal sides, like a squat warehouse. No windows of course. The chat rooms had said the appearance of such places could be deceptive, right?
That doorman was approaching her car. She had a flash of panic, then she rolled down the window. His day’s growth of beard made him look even more intimidating. Before she could speak, he assessed her in one glance. “You here to find a Master?”
She moistened her lips. “I…yes. I think so. I’ve never—”
“Shut up, slut. You’ll speak when spoken to. Give me twenty dollars for the cover charge.”
She pulled it out with shaking fingers. There were safe words, boundaries. They would observe them. This was part of the role playing, getting into the atmosphere. She got out, prudent enough to lock the car, but then she gasped as he shoved her back against the closed car door. “Put your hands on your head. I’m going to frisk you for weapons.”
Okay, now she wasn’t sure. Her mind wasn’t keeping up though. He took hold of the front of her blouse and ripped it open with one jerk, his gaze crawling over her breasts, quivering in the demi-cups. “Nice tits. They’ll like that. Want to clamp those babies, make them black and blue.” He put his hands on them, squeezing them as if they were market produce, in an efficient, functional manner, then worked his hands down her body, over her hips, bringing one large hand up between her legs. “Spread them,” he barked. “This cunt is up for grabs tonight. You keep these legs open for any Master who wants to feel.”
He spun her then, ran his hands over her ass. Her heart was rabbiting in her throat, but she couldn’t stop him. She didn’t know how to say no. Which was exactly what she’d feared, right? She’d wanted to bring this into her life so badly, she would take even this in silence, for the hope that something better, something more “right”, was behind that door. She yelped as he snagged the upswept twist she’d done with her hair and dragged her by it toward the door. “When we walk in, you get on your knees, in line with the others. You’re late. You must not have gotten the latest from Mistress Natasha about the time change. They’re about to assign the meat for the night. You almost missed your chance.”
There was no time to stammer out a reply or question. She was thrust into gloom. Sweat and alcohol permeated the atmosphere, as well as a dank underside, perhaps from a past flooding that had gotten into the carpet, seeping under the cheap metal walls. She had a brief impression of a narrow stage, where a naked girl was suspended by her wrists. She cried out as she was tapped by what appeared to be a cattle prod. Sparks flew from it, and there was a fresh brand on her flank, the skin red around it and the brazier still set up with ominous intent in the corner. A Master fucked her with a large vibrator. The girl was crying, yet shuddering with what appeared to be an impending climax.
“Knees,” her keeper barked, shoving Rachel down so she not only landed on her knees but fell forward. Before she could rise, a foot was on her neck. At close range, the vile-smelling carpet added a combination of cigarette smoke and other unthinkable bodily functions.
“You’ll obey instantly, slave, or you’ll be up on that stage next.” A new voice, deep and gravelly, issued that terrifying prediction. It was underscored by the icy trill of a woman’s cruel laughter.
“This one’s new. Turn her over and let’s see what we’ve got.”
She was rolled over by rough hands and pulled to her feet. Her hair had fallen out of the polished sticks she’d used to make the style appealing, exotic. But now it was disheveled, a rat’s nest falling around her shoulders and in her eyes. Tears she couldn’t stop were probably making her mascara run. With her blouse torn open, she probably looked like an attempted rape. Even as she recognized that seemed like the preferred dress code, her chaotic needs ignored it, kept clawing at her, making her helpless.
“Nice.” The gravelly voice belonged to a man dressed in only a body harness. His cock was cinched tight in a leather and silver sleeve. Even semi-erect, the organ seemed thick as her forearm, and just as long. “It’ll be my pleasure to break this one in for you, Mistress Natasha.”
The woman standing next to him was clad in latex. She had fire-red lips and kohl-rimmed eyes, and fingered a whip coiled around her waist. “Give her a good ass fucking for me, Milo. I want to hear her scream when you’re deep in her hole, then we’ll put her on the flogging post and I’ll make that lily white skin red as a split strawberry.”
“No…” She was breathing fast. Hands came out of the darkness, holding her arms, pulling at her clothes. “No, I don’t want…I need to go, I—”
An explosion of pain and her head snapped back on her neck. She stared at Milo, stunned, as he followed through with the backhand. She’d never been hit in the face in her entire life, and it hurt more than she could say, that searing pain across the cheekbone and lip. She tasted blood. He kept the hand lifted. “You want to sass your Mistress or me again, little slave cunt?”
Something burst in her then, a volcano erupting. The docile and helpless side vanished and she was fighting, snarling in terror. She’d known this was a mistake, but this was beyond a mistake. It was blatant, staggering proof that what she wanted was beyond her reach, that she’d devolved into the most unimaginable, idiotic folly.
So what the fuck’s your fantasy, Rachel? Letting me and my golf buddies gang rape you in an alley? Leaving you in some bum’s vomit and piss? Is that what gets you hot?
“Stop, stop, stop.” She was screaming at the top of her lungs, and the hands unexpectedly released her. When she stumbled against heated bodies in various states of undress, by some miracle she found her way through them to the heavy metal door. She pushed out of it with both hands, the doorman staring at her as she staggered onto the broken and uneven pavement. She’d left her purse in her car, with her pepper spray and Taser, but she didn’t think she could have used them anyhow. She was shaking so badly, she stumbled and fell, scraping her hands and ripping her slacks. It was her favorite pair, because they’d always made her feel sexy and feminine when she wore them. She was going to burn them as soon as she got home.
When hands closed on her arm, she shrieked and rolled to her back, striking out.
“Easy there, it’s okay. Calm down. I’m a police officer.”
The voice was a new one, and unlike Milo or the doorman, it projected firm, steady authority. Not a roaring bark that made her stomach jump as if it had been goaded by that cattle prod. When she managed to stop thrashing, she blinked up at this man. Built with the broad, solid lines of a football player, he was clean shaven, with shrewd, cynical gold-brown eyes. After taking in the jeans and dress shirt, she zeroed in on the shoulder holster for his gun beneath the open coat. Recognizing he probably was what he said he was brought knee-shaking relief, as well as mortified horror, imagining herself on some evening news program.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” He asked it in a tone that, to her way of thinking, sounded like “another twisted deviant hanging out where no decent person went”. She stared up at him and didn’t know what to say.
No, I’m lost. So lost, I’m not sure I’ll find my way back this time.
He studied her, then crouched to a squat. “This is my badge,” he said, pulling it out of the inside pocket for her to see. “I just went off shift and changed into my street clothes.”
She should have asked for that proof herself, but she wasn’t thinking clearly enough to manage it. When the doorman strode toward them, she shrank toward the cop, though she despised the weakness of it. The hand he put on her shoulder was surprisingly reassuring, as were his words. “It’s all right, miss. Cyrus, what the hell’s happening here?”
Cyrus stopped, gave her a look that was a mixture of disgust and exasperation. “Natasha’s having one of her private parties. Ten girls. I was told to give them the full treatment when they pulled in. I didn’t know she’d freak out. Natasha usually goes for the really hardcore ones.”
“I…I didn’t know it was a p-private p-party… I just c-came… Website…” Rachel shut her mouth, closing her eyes. She wished she was back on her cushioned mat in her studio, Jon behind her. His simplest command had made her feel quiet and still. Unsettled, in a good way. Not frightened and humiliated, not like this.
“Oh fuck.” Cyrus swore. “Keller, come on. I didn’t know she wasn’t one of the guests.”
“Goddamn it, Cyrus, we’ve discussed this before. You guys take way too many fucking risks. She has every right to bring assault charges against you and anyone else in that club who manhandled her, and it would serve you right. I’d love to throw your asses in that jail cell.”
“I don’t w-want…I j-just w-want t-t-to go…” She was fast losing the ability to talk, and the policeman seemed to realize it, because he curled a strong arm around her, rubbing her back in easy, firm strokes.
“You’re going to come with me, calm down and then we’ll talk and see what you want to do, miss. For right now, you take it easy.” He threw a glower at Cyrus. “You tell Natasha to keep her floor show inside from now on. She damn well better have an acceptable vetting process at her door by tomorrow night, or I’ll find every possible freaking code violation in this cesspool. I suppose if someone’s grandmother had pulled up asking for directions, you’d have mauled her as well?”
“Fuck, she was dressed for it, Keller. Maybe not as blatantly as—”
Rachel had her forehead pressed into Officer Keller’s lapel, so she felt a hardening of impressive chest muscles that matched the sudden, deadly tone in the cop’s voice.
“Trust me, Cyrus. Don’t go down the ‘she was asking for it because of the way she was dressed’ road. I’ll run your ass over.”
He didn’t wait for a response, not that she ever heard Cyrus give one. Though her teeth were chattering, she was cognizant of Cyrus thankfully retreating to the door, muttering. The officer helped her to her feet, keeping a supportive arm around her.
“Here we go.” He was directing her toward her car. “Ma’am, my name is Sergeant Leland Keller. I don’t have a vehicle here because I just got off shift. We’re near my place, and I was picking up dinner at that corner deli over there. But I tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to take your car to our precinct and I’m going to get a cup of coffee into you. We’ll let you clean yourself up and then we’ll talk, all right? And if you want a female officer, we have plenty of those.”
She shook her head. “Want to go h-home.”
“Well, you’re not doing that until I’m sure you’re okay, so there’s not going to be any arguing on that point, all right?” With that unrelenting assertion, he took her keys from her, still somehow clenched in her fist, so tight the metal had left impressions in her palm. Opening the passenger side, he folded her into the seat, secured her seatbelt around her and then closed the door. As he maneuvered his long frame into the driver’s side, sliding back the seat to accommodate him in the little compact, he gave her a penetrating glance. “Besides, I don’t think you want to go home to your husband looking like that.”
“Husband?” She followed his look to her left hand, the pale band of pigment that stood out so starkly there. She hadn’t put the ring back on once Jon had taken it off, a significant statement of its own. However, at the sergeant’s assumption, a hard spike of sobs tried to choke her breath again. “I’m not…married. Long story…but not married. No one. I have no one.”
It sounded so pathetic, said like that, but she laid her head back against the seat, too tired to say anything else. She didn’t want anything now except numbness.
Mission accomplished, right? In spades.
As Sergeant Keller put the car into drive, she stared into the side mirror at the retreating club. It looked like a demon crouched underneath a moonless sky, satisfied that it had devoured another soul.
* * * * *
The police precinct was as cheerless as she expected. Dingy tile, fluorescent lighting. Sidelong glances from jaded eyes that had seen it all. Sergeant Keller continued to be kind and attentive, however. Rather than fishing through the lost-and-found, he brought her a clean T-shirt from his own locker and a washcloth to use in the bathroom. Once there, she took one look at her face in the mirror under the harsh lighting—blood on her mouth, tear tracks, smeared mascara. All of it accentuated the crow’s feet at her eyes and stress lines around her taut mouth. She didn’t look again, except to steal quick glances to ensure she’d wiped all of it away that she could.
She’d been so rattled she’d left her purse at Leland Keller’s desk, but it didn’t matter. Any touch-up would look like clown makeup. Milo apparently had a hand the size of a tennis racket, for her cheek, eye and lip on the right side were swelling. The blouse had been stained with blood from the split lip.
The cotton T-shirt fell to her knees, almost hiding the rip in her slacks. Because one of her heels had broken in the parking lot and the other had been left behind, they’d also given her a pair of sneakers from the lost-and-found that were only about one size too big. She stuffed the broken shoe in the trash along with the blouse and came back out, following an officer’s direction to Sergeant Keller’s area.
He rose at the sight of her, gestured her to his guest chair. “You look better. Hot compresses and a good bath should help, a few aspirin.” He touched her face, tilting it away from him, and his jaw hardened. The way he touched her, so easy and confident, made her go still. Desperately, she told herself it was a police thing, the female perception of safety, protection. Believing anything else meant that she was going to have to tear out her mind, because it seemed the only way to stop it from going down this path over and over again.
While she believed in Fate, karma and the forces that drove destiny, she couldn’t possibly believe that suddenly Doms were everywhere, like a damn convention was in town. She’d gone years without meeting a single one outside of the Internet, after all. It was far more likely she was starting to hallucinate, like a crack addict snorting up everything from salt to talcum powder, or ground glass.
He released her at last, gave her a nod. “Yeah, you’ll be all right. That would be Milo’s handiwork there. They’re a hardcore pain club, miss. They dish it out without causing ER visits or police reports, mostly, but they sure as hell don’t observe enough of the rules for the things they do. It results in what you experienced tonight, among other things. I know you were pretty upset when I found you. Were you checking out the club…or were you lost and seeking directions?”
He asked it with a carefully straight face, giving her the out for her dignity, but she thought lying to a cop would be far more humiliating. “I was checking it out. I thought…” As her voice quavered, he pushed a hot cup of coffee into her hands. She clasped the warmth to her, inhaling the familiar scent of coffee beans. Something normal. “I made a mistake, is all.”
“That’s as may be, but a mistake shouldn’t lead to this.” He gestured to her face and general state. “I wasn’t just trying to spook Cyrus, miss. You have every right to file assault charges. They didn’t ask you for your consent, did they? Didn’t have you sign anything coming in the door or go over any safety restrictions, health issues?”
She shook her head. “He asked for twenty dollars. I gave it to him. I guess a court would say that was consent. It doesn’t matter anyway. The fact I sought out a club like that would tell a judge or jury everything they’d want to hear. I’m not stupid, despite the fact I did something very stupid tonight.”
“Now, miss—”
“I overheard two of the female police officers talking about me when I went into the bathroom.” She made herself say it aloud. She needed to hear it, needed to write it on every mirror in her house, to remind her of the way it had felt, the way it all felt. “‘Stupid bitch wanted a man to beat her like a dog, and then chickened out. I’d have left her there.’”
Drawing a breath, she straightened in the chair, though every bone in her body wanted to slump in defeated dejection. But she managed to sound calm, meet his gaze. “I have no desire to expose my life to public ridicule, and this is the kind of story that court reporters love to stumble upon, don’t they?”
Leland’s eyes had flashed, his glance snapping toward the exact two female cops, alarming her. But registering her tension, he spoke mildly, his shoulders easing a fraction. “They shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that a lot of people don’t understand what it is you’re seeking.”
She nodded wearily and rose, fumbling for her purse. “I’m one of them.” Drawing her pride around her as best she could, she extended a hand. “Thank you for your help, Sergeant Keller. I don’t care to file charges, and you won’t need to rescue me from such a place again. I can promise you that.”
He rose as well, clasping her hand rather than shaking it. He had golden-brown hair to go with those golden-brown eyes. He reminded her of a bear. A handsome, appealing bear, capable of impressive ferocity but also tenderness, like his touch now.
“I’ve tucked my card in your purse. If you need anything, or reconsider, you give me a call.”
She nodded again, but she was already pulling away. The need to get to her haven, to close the door on the whole world, was a steady cord reeling her toward home. She’d take a couple days off, have her backups fill in for her appointments and classes. She’d give herself forty-eight hours under the covers, with the drone of daytime TV and the stifled sound of her own sobs, and she’d pull it together again.
Then she’d renew her personal vow to herself. She’d never, ever go down this road again. She’d known better from the beginning.
* * * * *
After the pretty blonde left, Leland sat back down at his desk. It wasn’t exactly protocol to go through a victim’s purse, but when he’d tucked his card into the side pocket, he’d seen another card. He’d been bothered by her broken admission that there was no one else in her life, and so he’d sneaked a glance. After tonight’s events, it was the last name he would have expected to see there. When he dialed the number, Jon picked up before the second ring finished.
“Leland. What the hell? You know it’s one in the morning, right?”
“Don’t hand me that shit. You’re in that mad scientist home laboratory of yours, breaking all sorts of hazardous material laws to figure out how to turn the universe inside out. Or tuning up a device to give a woman so many orgasms in one go you’ll never lack for pussy again.”
“Been there, done that.”
“Oh yeah? Which one?”
“Both, of course. What’s your excuse for being at work so late? Shouldn’t you be in that dump apartment of yours, drinking your once-a-night beer and eating your convenience store nacho package before you go to sleep to ESPN recaps? Can’t imagine why some woman hasn’t snapped your exciting ass right up.”
“Blow me. No, I’m up because I just pulled a woman out of a tricky situation. A woman carrying your card in her purse. Rachel Madison?”
Jon’s tone went from lazy insult to sharp attention, a knife striking stone. “Is she all right? Where is she?”
“She’s fine. Gone home and will likely sleep it off.” After a considering pause, Leland gave him the immediate details. There was the code he observed as a cop, and the code he observed as a Dom, and he didn’t mind bending the rules a bit in either direction when it made sense. When it was to protect someone who obviously needed some help.
“She said she had no one. Which I expected was true, since if I had a girlfriend and she went off to a place like that at all, let alone on her own, she wouldn’t sit comfortably for a week.” He let the statement hang out there, intending the mild note of accusation, but Jon’s instant response reassured him on that score.
“We’re not involved like that. But I was headed that way. I didn’t know she was there. It’s not going to happen again.”
The man typically emanated tranquil vibes like a damn lava lamp. The whip-taut tension Leland heard was a radical change. “Hmm. When I saw your card, I thought she might be one of your occasional sub-with-benefits friends. But you usually pick them smarter than that.”
“She’s smart. Just hasn’t figured out that part of things yet. You know how that can be, at the beginning.”
“Yeah.” Leland sobered. “Classy lady. She belonged in that crowd the way a swan belongs among a bunch of carrion eaters.”
“That’s been Club More’s MO since they opened. Don’t worry about them, Leland. I’ll be passing on this tidbit to Matt tomorrow. By the end of the week, Ben’ll have dug up so many legal problems with the place they’ll have to convert to a Dunkin’ Donuts.”
“Good. I like their coffee.”
“Damn it. This is my fault.” The sigh on Jon’s side was followed by an ominous tone. “It’s a mistake I’m going to fix.”
“Sounds good. But give her the night, Jon.” Leland paused, hesitating over the other part. Weighed the pros and cons, what he knew of Jon, what his gut told him, and said it out loud. “I ran a check on her. Pretty standard thing in this situation, but came up with something that happened four years ago. She was cleaning a gun and it went off. Grazed her neck, the bullet went through her window and lodged in the outer wall of the adjacent building. It was called in by a startled landlord when he heard the shot, saw her come out onto her balcony with blood on her neck and the gun in her hand. She looked a little out of it. It all got worked out, of course, and was logged as a simple accident, no harm done.”
Jon’s voice was tight. “She’s thorough and careful. Detail-oriented.”
“Yeah, well, everyone can make a mistake. But you’re already following the right track. The officer who was called out, a rookie, had a different take. No proof, so no action taken on it, just a sticky in the file. Anyhow, the kid thought it was an attempted suicide. Powell has good instincts. He’s in narcotics now. He took it upon himself to check on her a couple times after that, noted she seemed on a more even keel, had opened a yoga studio, so over time he assumed he was either mistaken or she’d gotten herself straightened out.”
The silence was long and weighted, and Leland’s brow creased. “You okay?”
“She’s a friend, Leland. And more than that.”
“Yeah, I get that impression.” Knowing the man’s nature as he knew his own, Leland had a pretty good idea what might be roiling in Jon right now. It was probably best for Rachel not to be exposed to it tonight. “I know you want to go be with her and take care of this, but trust me. If you don’t have a relationship in play between you yet, you’ll want to give her about a day. She’s pretty damn raw and vulnerable right now. She didn’t strike me as someone on the suicidal edge again, but she needs time to pull herself together, feel like no one knows except a nosy cop in the wrong place at the right time.”
“Thanks, Oprah.” But Jon blew out a breath after another long moment. “I know you’re right. I need to get my mind wrapped around how to handle it. She’s complicated. A lot of layers I don’t yet understand, and you gave me a missing piece I should have taken the time to see before I… Goddamn it, I don’t want her to be alone with this. Fuck.”
Leland didn’t bother to suppress a grim smile at the sound of something crashing, perhaps accidentally knocked off a table—or knocked off deliberately—and the stream of curses that followed. Despite the serious circumstances, he wished he had a recorder so he could play this for the other guys of Jon’s team who were used to him being so irritatingly placid under pressure. Now that he figured the woman was in good hands, Leland could enjoy the break from pattern, though he was smart enough not to goad. Much.
“Try some of those ‘ohms’ you do,” he said encouragingly. “You know, that lotus thing, with the fingers all arranged in a circle.”
He chuckled as the phone disconnected with a definitive click, and replaced his own receiver. Damn, it was late, and he’d volunteered to take Ramirez’s early shift tomorrow. Maybe he’d get one of the guys to drop him off at the corner, so he could get some more packaged nachos from Raj. Checking his watch, he thought he could still catch the two a.m. ESPN wrap-up, after all.
After tonight’s events, he thought he’d be dreaming of the curvy, perfect submissive he’d yet to find. The one who would wear his collar and nothing else to bed. He’d curl his large body around her like a protective panther and know she was all his, one hand cupped around her generous breast, the nipple teasing his palm as he nested his cock in the crevice of her soft ass. They’d dream the night away together.
He hoped Jon was on the way to finding a similar treasure. Something in the serious hazel eyes of the blonde, the set of that pink mouth, the dignified way she’d managed to straighten up at the end, said she might be the kind of pure gold every man sought. That every Master needed.