by J. Kenner
That he is going to leave me in order to save me.
But all that will really do is destroy me.
I have to do something--I have to get through to him somehow. I have to make him see me--really see me--and believe me when I tell him that I can handle whatever he needs.
But I don't know how to do that. I'm lost, so damn lost.
And I can think of only one person who can help me find my way.
Brody.
I pull on loose-fitting jeans and a Moschino T-shirt and tie my hair back in a messy ponytail. I jam my feet into a pair of ratty Converse skids, grab my purse, and head out into the real world. The sun is bright, the clouds are fluffy, and the temperature is pleasant in the low seventies. It's an absolutely gorgeous day--and I'm not enjoying it at all. Instead, I'm on auto-pilot. Standing in the street. Hailing a cab. Closing my eyes and letting the rhythm of the vehicle soothe me as the taxi speeds toward the Village.
Except, of course, I'm not sootheable at all.
I pay, get out, and then climb the stairs to the main door of Brody's building. He and Stacey rent the entire third floor of the converted townhouse, along with the roof garden that's accessed by a private staircase. I'm about to ring the bell when the door opens and Stacey says, "Oh!"
"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." She's wearing workout gear and carrying a gym bag. "Is Brody--I mean, is it okay if I go in?"
She studies my face, and I'm sure she can see that I've been crying. "Of course you can. He was in the shower when I left, but he'll be out soon. There's coffee in the kitchen and some croissants in a bag. Make yourself at home."
I'm eating a chocolate croissant when Brody comes into the kitchen wearing absolutely nothing. And, with the kind of aplomb that is so very Brody, he doesn't even blink when he sees me sitting there.
I, of course, am completely flustered.
"Oh, please," he says, dropping into a seat opposite me at the table. "Like you haven't seen my junk before."
"But now your junk belongs to Stacey."
He shrugs. "And yet I still rent it out."
I roll my eyes. Brody may be a professional dom, but he's also my best friend. And I happen to know that he's very limited in the clients that he actual fucks. Still, there are a few. And Stacey is actually cool with that, which impresses the hell out of me.
Right now, I'm just glad that he's seated. He's still shirtless, but at least the rest of him is hidden from view.
"Considering the early hour, I'm guessing this is either the apocalypse or you're still having Dallas issues."
"It damn sure feels like the apocalypse," I admit, then cringe when an unexpected tear trickles down my cheek.
"Oh, kiddo, I'm sorry." He reaches across and squeezes my hand. "Tell me."
I start to do exactly that--and then I realize that in order for Brody to give me the advice I crave, I have to tell him everything. I have to share my secrets. More to the point, I have to share Dallas's.
I take a breath. "I need to tell you some things. Lots of things. But they're private--even more than what you already know about--but I need help." I lick my lips. "I--I thought about talking to one of my therapists, but this is--it's sex. Except it's more than sex. And I--"
"Hey, whatever you need. You know I won't break your confidence."
I nod, because I do know that.
"So tell me what's going on."
I try to gather my thoughts. Brody already knows a bit of what happened during our captivity. He knows that Dallas and I were together, and he knows that Dallas was tortured. But he doesn't know the extent of it--hell, I only just learned that myself. He doesn't know that Dallas is afraid of physically hurting me. And he doesn't know that Dallas hasn't been able to penetrate a woman since he and I were fifteen.
But he needs to know all of that if he's going to really help me. So I grab another coffee, sit back down, and start at the beginning.
When I finish, Brody looks a little shell-shocked, which says a lot about how fucked up everything is with Dallas and me. Because Brody has seen a lot.
"And now you're afraid it's over?" he asks. "Because of the way he freaked out and left."
I nod. Then I shake my head. Then I nod again. "I guess I'm afraid that what I thought was the beginning was really just us ending with a bang."
Brody leans back, his arms crossed over his chest as he studies me.
"I'm scared," I admit.
He nods slowly. And then he leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees, never taking his eyes off me. "Bullshit," he says, and the word is so unexpected that I shift to sit more upright. "Yeah, I said bullshit."
"What the fuck?"
"You're not scared. At least, you're not scared of it ending. You're scared of where it's going. Of how hard it might be. You're confused because he's not acting according to script and you don't know what to make of that."
I hug myself. "No, I--"
"Oh, come on, Jane. You're vulnerable; I get that. And maybe you two really are sliding backward, but backward doesn't mean it's over, just that there's more work to be done." He reaches out and takes my hands. "Listen, kid. As hard as it was for you seventeen years ago, it was even harder for him, right? And everything you two do together brings it all back for him. There's a connection in his mind between you and that place. That time. That torture. He's used to that--hell, he's even been handling it in his own way. Then you go and suggest that he put you in the role of the woman who tortured him and, yeah, that's gonna fuck anyone up."
I nod slowly, because he's right.
"And except for this hitch, you two were moving forward, right?"
"Yeah. We've stumbled a bit, sure. But this is the first time I've been really scared."
"So, that's good. That's progress."
"I guess so." I frown. "Except he's been holding back all along, keeping me on that damn pedestal. I mean, we still haven't done anything in the playroom," I add, referring to a converted maid's room in my townhouse.
His brows rise. "Well, that was a huge waste of my considerable talents." After Brody told me in confidence that he knew that Dallas belonged to a kink club called The Cellar, I'd had him help me redo the room with a BDSM flair in an effort to convince Dallas that he could trust me to go with him as far as he needed.
Apparently that's a battle I'm still fighting.
"So what do I do?" I press. "I love him. And I'm so damned afraid I'm going to lose him."
"Like I've said all along, you have to prove to him you can handle it. That you can take whatever he gives."
"And like I've been saying all along, I've been trying. So far, not succeeding."
"Honestly, kiddo. I'm not sure what the best approach is. But I'd start by going to The Cellar."
"Seriously?"
"Hell yeah. If you go and tell him you're there to play, I promise you he'll show up, if only to keep you away from anyone else."
"But I wouldn't do anything with anyone else. And he knows it."
Brody lifts a shoulder. "Knowing it and knowing it are two different things. He'll come."
I nod. About that, Brody's probably right.
"You need to make it clear that even though he's the one in control, he won't hurt you. Pick a safe word. I can't guarantee it would have made a difference, but if you'd yelled a safe word--something offbeat--I bet it would have crashed through his dream, zen state, whatever the fuck it was. And if he knows you're thinking in those terms--"
"Then maybe he'll understand that I can handle it. That I want to handle it."
"Maybe." He sighs. "Honestly, this is out of my league. But that's my best advice. We're not talking a normal dom/sub relationship, here. You get that, right? This is all Dallas. All pain and past, and I don't really have a road map for you."
"I know. I don't need a map. I just need--I don't know, I guess I just need help."
"I'll always give you that in spades."
"I know. And I love you for it." I exhale, then nod. "Okay. So, back
to The Cellar. Do I just ... show up?"
"I'll arrange it for you. And I'll make sure you two have a private room available, too, because--hang on." He tilts his head, obviously considering something. "You know what? I take it back. Forget The Cellar."
"What? Why?"
"This is not a man who wants to share you, and we already know he's afraid of freaking you out or humiliating you."
I lean forward, listening. "Go on."
"Dallas wants the kink, sure. Hell, he needs it. But he doesn't want to need it. And he sure as hell doesn't like that he wants it. He goes to the club to fill a need, not because he likes it there or is comfortable being there."
I nod, because all of that rings true. "So where does that leave me?"
"You need privacy. And we've already set up pretty much what you need back in your townhouse."
"Except I told you that he seems entirely uninterested in christening that room. And, honestly, after the way he bolted from me, how the hell would I get him in there, anyway? I mean, after last night, I'm not sure he'll set foot in my house again."
Brody's grin is devious. "Oh, I can get him there. He may end up being pissed as hell and a little freaked out, but I think you can manage him."
"Pissed and freaked?" I repeat, then widen my eyes when I realize what Brody's thinking.
I almost start to protest, but then I close my mouth tight. It just might work. And, honestly, I'm desperate enough to try anything.
Master of Illusion
Dallas pretty much hated himself. Worse, he was damn sure that Jane hated him, too.
He was a fucking mess, and it's a wonder she didn't just kick him in the balls. He sure as hell deserved it.
With a groan, he bent forward and lowered his head, letting the spray from the shower pound against his aching back, wishing that it could wash away all his mistakes.
His body ached as he remembered the way she'd felt on top of him, his cock hard inside her warmth. But he'd only been half there. The rest of him lost in a dream.
A dream of darkness. And torment.
A dream where he was at her mercy--Jane's, the Woman--it didn't matter because in the dream they'd been all mixed up. They'd been one. They'd been taunting him, torturing him, using him.
The first time he'd awakened to find himself hard and inside of Jane was like a fantasy come true. It had rocked him to the core, and the way she had taken control had aroused him so fully that for the first time he had hope that he might actually be able to finish inside her.
And now the memory of the Woman was destroying that pleasure. Taking something he cherished and turning it around on him, twisting it up now, seventeen years later, just like she'd done when he was a boy.
Fucking bitch.
He couldn't take it any longer. He couldn't live with the memories. With the fear. He couldn't live knowing what she'd done to him.
And all he could hear was Jane's words in his head. She took control? Take it back.
Well, fuck if that wasn't exactly what he'd tried to do.
Except it wasn't the Woman who was riding him. It wasn't the Woman he'd tossed to the ground, slammed against the wall. A damp concrete wall, hidden away in an underground fortress.
It wasn't the Woman he'd grabbed by the throat, holding her tight--so damn tight--as he'd thrust his fingers hard inside of her. Claiming her. Taming her. Proving that it was he who held fast to control.
It wasn't the Woman he was punishing. It wasn't a cell he was inhabiting.
It was Jane. It was her bedroom.
But he hadn't stopped. Goddamn him, he'd kept holding her. He'd kept fucking her. He wanted to claim her, needed to have her. Completely. Fully. Needed to know that she meant it when she said she would go with him as far as he wanted to go.
Then he'd looked at her--really seen her. More than that, he'd really seen himself. His hand on her throat. The brutality with which he was taking her.
He'd thrown himself off her, then scrambled back, horrified, leaving her to sag to the floor, limp and coughing.
She'd told him it was okay. She'd told him that she was fine.
But he knew better.
It wasn't okay.
And so long as she was with a guy as fucked up as he was, she wouldn't ever be fine.
Once again, he closed his eyes, then shivered as he realized the water in the shower had gone cold.
With a curse, he turned off the water, then pushed open the door and reached for a towel. He was wrapping it around his hips when Archie's voice crackled over the intercom.
"Liam is here. He's waiting for you in the ops center."
"Thanks." His voice was hoarse, and he realized he'd been crying.
Well, why wouldn't he have been? First he'd lost himself. Then he'd lost Jane.
God only knew what he'd lose next.
Dallas paused outside the door to the op center, breathing deep, trying to erase any last hint of Jane from his face. It wouldn't work, of course. Jane was part of him and always would be, even if he knew damn well that walking away from her was for the best.
It was--he was certain of it. But right now he wasn't in the mood to justify his decision to Liam. They needed to focus on Deliverance. On Colin.
And he didn't need his best friend to tell him what he already knew--that Dallas and Jane were meant to be together, and it was only his own goddamn inability to get his shit together that was keeping them apart.
Maybe if he found the Woman. Maybe if he could fucking erase her then he could erase his fears and needs, too.
Or maybe he'd sprout wings and fly over the Statue of Liberty. Because that seemed about as likely.
Forcing himself to focus, he took a deep breath, punched in the code to unlock the door, and strode into the ops center.
Liam looked up, waving from where he stood in front of one of the computer screens talking to Noah and Quince, whose faces peered out from the monitors.
"So that's the plan, then," Quince said. "I've got a briefing in the prime minister's office in an hour, but Noah and I will get going on our end." His eyes cut to Dallas. "Good to see you, mate. Liam can get you up to speed."
"Sounds good," Dallas agreed, as Noah said his goodbyes, too, and the monitors winked to black.
"So what's the plan?"
"We're going to send Colin anonymous texts from a burner phone. Vague, but suggesting we know his secret. With luck, it'll spur him to action."
Dallas nodded, considering. "Ballsy. But dangerous, too."
"True. But we need to make a play. After seventeen years, he's not doing anything that's going to spontaneously lead us back to the kidnapping."
"I've been thinking along the same lines, actually. Thought I'd mention my conversation with Bill when I'm at Colin's for dinner. Let him know that WORR and a few agencies are investigating the Sykes kidnapping."
Liam nodded. "I like it."
"Assuming he's really our guy, either the texts or Bill's investigation could spur him into making a move. But we're also running a risk that he'll destroy any remaining evidence. We need more eyes on him."
"Already on it," Liam said. "He makes a move, we follow. Noah's going to pull Tony in for additional surveillance."
Dallas considered the ramifications, then nodded. "It's solid. Risky, but it may pan out."
"I damn sure hope so. And we'll also have the intel from the bugs you're going to plant, so let's talk about how that's going to go down."
"Should be easy enough. The point of the dinner is to show off the remodel of the house Colin bought in Brooklyn Heights."
"So you can wander freely and praise the woodwork and casually mention Bill's investigation."
"That's my plan," Dallas said. "I just wish Jane wasn't going to be there."
Liam frowned. "Why is she?"
"Adele invited her. Apparently Colin invited Adele. So it's going to be one big happy family, and I'll have to plant the bugs without Colin or either of the women noticing."
"Easy eno
ugh for a crack spy like you."
Dallas rolled his eyes, and Liam sank down into one of the rolling desk chairs, then pushed backward a bit before kicking his feet out and studying Dallas. "So what's the real reason you don't want Jane there? Because it's Colin? Or because you still haven't told her everything she wants to know about Deliverance?"
"Both," Dallas said. "Neither. Shit, man--everything is such a clusterfuck right now."
Liam rolled his chair closer. "Tell me," he said. And despite everything Dallas had told himself earlier, he heard himself saying, "I hurt her. Goddammit, Liam, I had her slammed against the wall with my hand around her neck and I fucking hurt her."
To his credit, Liam didn't push himself up out of his chair and bash Dallas's brains in. Instead he said, very slowly and carefully, "I think you need to back up, buddy. Back up and tell me exactly what happened. And while you're at it, I think you need to tell me why."
It wasn't easy. Christ, it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. To tell his best friend the way he'd been tormented as a teen by that fucking bitch. To explain his screwed up, violent, horrible fantasies. The kink he was into. Everything he craved with Jane.
He told Liam that Jane had said she could handle it, but he'd never fully believed her. Hell, he even told Liam about the playroom she'd had built in one of the old maids' rooms in her townhouse, part of a last-ditch effort to convince him that she meant what she said.
And then, worst of all, he actually confessed to his best friend that he hadn't penetrated a woman since he was fifteen.
"Wow," Liam said, blinking and looking a bit like he was in shock. "You really are badass. All those women saying you've fucked them."
"Yeah, I'm just like David Copperfield. Master of illusion."
"And seriously screwed up, too."
And despite the hell he'd just put himself through, Dallas broke down and laughed. "Thanks," he said. "Thanks a lot."
Liam waved it away. "I don't mean your angst or your cock. I mean that all this really is messing with your head if you're telling it to me."
"It is," Dallas admitted, running his fingers through his hair. "And I haven't even told you everything about last night." He did now, though. About the intense sexual violence of his dreams. About Jane taking advantage of his erection. About the way he'd taken her, not realizing it was her. And then had kept on going when his senses returned, wanting to claim her. Needing to know if she could go with him as far as she'd said.