Knot a Chance: Doms of The Covenant Book 3

by Samantha A. Cole

  She spun on her heel and stalked across the room before pivoting back toward him. “You know, I’m glad I didn’t renew our contract. You’re not the man I thought you were. The Stefan I knew loved life—he lived it to the fullest. I’m not sure I even want to know this side of you. In fact, I know I don’t. Goodbye, Stefan.”

  Cass didn’t bother waiting for a response from him. For the second time in as many months, she fled his townhouse holding back the tears until she reached her car. Once she was in the driver’s seat, they burst forth. Glancing up, she saw Stefan standing in the open doorway of his unit, staring at her, and she hoped he couldn’t see her crying. He stayed there as she started the engine, put the gear in drive, and pulled out of the parking lot.

  Needing someone to talk to, instead of going home alone, Cass steered the car toward the Trident Security compound. Before she’d arrived at Stefan’s, Sasha had sent her a text saying she was visiting with Angie and Kristen and invited her to join them. The women would be there for her like she’d been there for them whenever they’d needed her. And she needed them more than ever right now.

  “He said what?” Angie demanded as she continued to breastfeed her daughter. Kristen’s son, JD, was sitting on the floor next to Sasha, making something with plastic blocks. The cottage was on the west side of the fenced-in property and had been built as a shared studio for Kristen, an author, and Angie, an artist, after finding they ended up in either one’s apartment almost every day. The cottage had plenty of windows to give Angie natural light to work with. Each woman had her own space, and there was a play area, a kitchenette, and a full bath available.

  Cass just nodded as Kristen handed her a cup of tea. Angie’s question had obviously been rhetorical, so she didn’t bother repeating what Stefan had said to her.

  Handing JD another block, Sasha asked, “What did you say to him?”

  She gave them the abridged version of what she’d said to Stefan, and the women hooted.

  “Good for you,” Angie cheered.

  “Men.” Sasha rolled her eyes. “How can they be Doms and such stupid idiots at the same time?” Probably out of habit, she glanced over her shoulder and then around the room. “Just checking there are no Doms around.”

  Before anyone could say anything else, the cottage’s front door swung open and Ian strode in. Sasha’s brown skin paled, and she froze. The other women cast worried looks at each other. As Ian approached the group, it became obvious he hadn’t heard the submissive calling Dom a “stupid idiots,” and they all relaxed again. When he heard the entire story, he would probably agree with them, but it was still disrespectful to call Doms names.

  “Hello, ladies.” The man smiled as he bent over and kissed Angie’s lips before doing the same to Peyton’s forehead. The little girl’s face lit up at the sight of her father, and she let go of her mother’s nipple. Taking the cloth his wife had placed over her shoulder for when she burped the baby, Ian threw it over his own shoulder then reached down to take his daughter. He was a handsome man, any day of the week, but put a baby in his arms, and he was beyond McDreamy.

  “Came over to get your baby fix?” Angie teased as she adjusted her shirt and nursing bra.

  “Yup, and to give us both a break. I’ve got a boring conference call in ten minutes that’ll probably go on well over an hour, so I figured my sweet, little girl could keep me company for a bit, and we can have some bonding time. That gives you a chance to do whatever you need to do.”

  Cass’s heart melted, and, by the looks on the other women’s faces, theirs had too. Apparently, Ian had installed a crib, a changing table, and a few other baby items in a corner of his office over in the Trident Security building, so his daughter could visit with him any time he wanted. Kristen had mentioned Devon had a similar set up in his office as well. The compound they were all in was a great setup for the Sawyer family. All Kristen, Devon, Ian, Angie, Nick, and Jake had to do was walk from the building that housed their penthouse-sized apartments to their respective work buildings. They could go back and forth whenever they needed or wanted to. The same went for the club. Just had to walk across the compound, and, boom, they were at The Covenant. Cass wasn’t sure what would happen when the kids got old enough to realize there was a sex club less than a football field’s distance from their homes, but the adults had plenty of time to figure that all out.

  “Cassandra, what’s wrong?”

  She lifted her chin up to find Ian studying her face, which was still red and puffy from crying all the way from Stefan’s to there. His intense gaze showed he was truly concerned about her, and that just made her eyes well up again.

  Angie reached over, patted her hand, and answered for her. “She went to check on Stefan because he’d missed some rehab sessions, and, apparently, he’s having a temper tantrum over the fact he’s being forced to retire from the Coast Guard.”

  “Temper tantrum?”

  Cass nodded and wrung her hands together. “I guess you could call it that. He was drunk and looked like he had been for a few days. The townhouse was a mess, and he wasn’t acting like the Stefan we all know. I’m . . . really worried.”

  Ian’s eyes narrowed at her, as he rubbed Peyton’s back, trying to elicit a burp from the infant. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t think he’s showered or changed his clothes in days, and there were beer bottles, used plates and bowls, newspapers, and a bunch of fast food bags all over the place. I don’t even know if he’s taking his medication.” Her tears began to fall again. “When I asked him why he hadn’t been to rehab, he basically asked why he should bother going because his career and life were over.” She took the tissue Kristen handed her and wiped her eyes. “He could barely stand up without holding onto something and even asked if I wanted to . . . to play.”

  A low growl from Ian was interrupted by a loud belch from Peyton. Anger flared in his eyes, and his jaw clenched, but his gentle hold on the baby didn’t change. The Covenant’s head Dom took his position and participation in the BDSM lifestyle seriously, and he instantly fell into the role. “You didn’t play with him while he was drunk, did you, subbie?”

  Cass shook her head. “No, Sir, I refused.”

  “She told him off,” Sasha announced. “Big time.”

  Ian’s facial expression relaxed a bit. “Good.” Cass figured that one word was in response to her not playing with the drunken Stefan and not the fact she’d told him off. “All right. Cassandra, for now, I want you to stay away from him. He’s obviously not in a good place, mentally, and I don’t want to see you hurt. I’ll talk to him tomorrow and get his head out of his . . .” He glanced down at Peyton and then JD. “Out of his butt. Until then, I don’t want you going to see him, understood?” When she nodded, he added, “That goes for the rest of you too, ladies. No interfering.”

  “Yes, Sir,” the submissives said in unison.

  19

  “God damn it. I swear, the people in my life are fucking idiots sometimes. I’m getting sick of it,” Ian bitched as he pulled into Stefan’s townhouse complex at just after eight in the morning.

  Beside him, Mitch snorted. “Right. Because you’ve never been a fucking idiot in your entire life. Get real, cuz.”

  “I’ve been an idiot before, but not a fucking idiot. Fucking idiots are worse than regular idiots, and I’ve only been a regular idiot a few times.”

  Mitch looked at him incredulously. “What’s the difference?”

  After pulling into a spot, he put the gearshift into park. “The difference is an idiot doesn’t realize he’s screwing up until someone points it out to him. A fucking idiot knows he’s screwing up and doesn’t do a damn thing about it, even when the best thing he’s ever had is staring at him in the face.”

  Ian hadn’t been too surprised when he’d found out from Cassandra that Stefan was in a depressive funk and acting like a putz about his Coastie career being over. Shit happened. The guy had to get over it. Besides, working in the private sector was
a lot more fun and financially secure—not that Ian nor Stefan needed the money.

  Getting out of the truck, he met Mitch at the tailgate before striding toward Stefan’s unit. Mitch gave him a sideways glance and a grin. “Have you consulted your ‘twat roster’ and decided on a new nickname for him yet.”

  “Yup.”

  A few seconds passed before Mitch prodded, “Well?”

  When Ian still didn’t respond, the other man stopped short. “What? You’re not going to tell me whatever nickname you’re going to be calling him in what? Thirty seconds?”

  Smirking, he kept walking. “Nope. Life’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

  Less than thirty seconds later, he knocked loudly on Stefan’s door. “Hey, twat-knot, open the damn door!”

  Mitch chuckled as he stepped up next to him. “Love it.”

  After another round of pounding on the door, it finally swung open, and Ian eyed the man on the other side of the threshold. “Damn, you look like crap. I thought, after a few weeks, you were supposed to look better than when you were actually having your heart attack.”

  Stefan frowned and scowled at them with bloodshot eyes. His clothes were disheveled, and he probably hadn’t changed them in days. He also hadn’t shaved at any time within the past week or so. “Whatta you doin’ here?”

  “Don’t you know an intervention when you see one, twat-knot? Okay, so it’s only the two of us, but, truthfully, all you really need is me kicking your ass to get it back in line.” He pushed the door open further, forcing Stefan back a step, and strolled inside. “Mind if we come in? Not that I care whether you do or not, but I thought I’d try being polite for a change.”

  He inspected the place as he strolled through it. Cassandra had accurately described it to him yesterday. The kitchen was a mess with empty pizza, Mexican, Chinese, and fast food containers and bags, and beer bottles. “Since when do you eat fast food?” He hitched a thumb toward the kitchen as he moved into the living room. “I’m pretty sure none of that shit’s on your nutritionist’s checklist.” His gaze roamed the space. Used plates, more empty beer bottles, and several newspapers were strewn about the seating area. Ian glanced at one of the papers left open on the coffee table. “Seriously? You’re looking for a job in the local want ads? Doing what? Cleaning out toilets or frying hamburgers? Selling used cars? Serving popcorn to little shits at the movie theater? Not that there’s anything wrong with those jobs if that’s all you can get or those are the only ones you’re qualified to do. But last time I checked, your intelligence and skill set make you overqualified for any of those jobs. Although, I am starting to question your intelligence.”

  During Ian’s rambling, Mitch had shaken his head then disappeared into the kitchen before returning with a box of garbage bags. He quietly set about cleaning up the living room as Stefan plopped down in his recliner and glared at him. The homeowner still hadn’t said a single word to his uninvited guests aside from his surly greeting.

  After a few moments of silence, Stefan turned his glare to Ian who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “I don’t need or want a fucking intervention, Sawyer. I’m fine, and how I live my life is none of your damn business.”

  “Yeah, because you look fine.” Ian snorted. “As for this being none of my business, you’re wrong there too. This is my business—you’re a Dom in my club, a friend, and fellow member of the military—although, the Coasties are faux-military.” Of course, he had to get that dig in. “And I’m not going to sit back and watch you slowly kill yourself.”

  Leaning back, Stefan rolled his bloodshot eyes. “I’m not trying to kill myself, asshole.”

  His eyebrows shot up, and he gestured to the messy room that Mitch was taking care of. “No? Because it sure looks that way to me. You just had a major heart attack, you’re eating junk food that probably hasn’t passed through your colon since you were a teen, you’re drinking to excess, and you’ve bailed on your rehab sessions. Ten to one, you haven’t even been taking your new meds lately.” When Stefan wouldn’t look at him, Ian knew his suspicion was correct. Damn idiot.

  He was done with this shit. Reaching around to his lower back, he pulled out his concealed, holstered 9mm and set it on the side table next to the recliner. Mitch froze and stared at his cousin as if he had three heads, but Ian ignored him. Instead he pointed at the gun and addressed Stefan. “You want to kill yourself, go right ahead. But why fucking drag it out? That’s fully loaded, and one’s in the chamber. Just pick it up, point it at your head, and pull the goddamn trigger. Fast and easy, and the rest of us don’t have to sit back and watch you kill yourself over the next few months.” He shrugged. “So, just do it now, and we’ll give you a proper funeral then get on with our lives.”

  Stefan ran a hand down his whiskered face and let out a low growl. “You’re a fucking bastard, you know that?”

  “Not according to my parents—they were happily married before they were blessed with my conception.”

  After a few moments of tense silence, Stefan picked up the gun and handed it back to Ian, who clipped it to the waistband of his pants at his lower back again. “Good choice, twat-knot.”

  “God, don’t tell me that’s my new nickname.”

  Ian grinned. “Yup, it is. I’ve already penciled it in on my twat roster. I love that freaking thing—everybody should have one.” Taking a seat next to Mitch on the now cleared sofa, he set his ankle on the opposite knee. “Now that we’ve gotten your impending suicide out of the way, let’s talk about other shit. So, your time in the Guard is up, huh?”

  Stefan’s eyes narrowed. “How did you . . .? Let me guess—Cassie told you.”

  “She’s worried about you, God knows why. What I don’t get, Commander, is why you’ve got your panties in a twist—it’s not like you need the fucking money.”

  Sighing, Stefan picked up a half-full beer bottle, stared at it a moment, then put it back on the side table. He stood up and paced back and forth in front of them. “It’s not about the damn money, and you know it. It’s about doing a job I love. It’s about saving lives and being part of something that means something. I didn’t plan on retiring for another twenty, twenty-five years.” He stopped and stared at them, as if he were hoping they’d give him words of wisdom. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

  “Start a new chapter in your life,” Mitch said, speaking for the first time.

  “Exactly,” Ian agreed. “Look, what I’m about to say is not out of fucking pity or anything, so don’t take it that way. I was talking to Dev and the rest of Trident’s new co-owners—God, what was I thinking when I gave the Alpha Team shares of the company? Anyway, we talked about it and agreed we want you to come work for us.”

  Stefan gaped as he sat in the recliner again. “What? Are you kidding me?”

  Shaking his head, Ian held up a hand, staving off any objection until the other man heard him out. “Not as an operative—at least not until you get cleared by the doctors as being one-hundred percent again—but as a trainer. We’ve bought up some more land to the west of the compound, and we’re starting a new venture. We’ll be running training classes for law enforcement and private security, teaching them tricks of the trade the military and black ops use that the locals haven’t had the opportunity to learn. Some sessions will be only a day or two, while others might be longer, covering hostage rescue, active shooter situations, OCONUS details, corporate bodyguards, et cetera, and whatever else you can think of that will interest our clients. We’ll also offer a chance for SWAT teams to come in for practice runs, evaluations, and modification training. While larger police departments have their own facilities and instructors, smaller departments don’t always have that luxury, so sometimes their training isn’t up to par. We sent out query letters to numerous departments in Florida to see if there was a need for this kind of setup, and the response has been very positive. Several departments want to be in on the first classes. We’re certain, once we get started, we’ll have interest
up and down the East Coast.

  “So, we need someone to run the whole shebang. You’d oversee scheduling both the sessions and instructors. You’ll have opportunities to teach as well. On top of that, you’ll also take over training and firearms qualifications for all Trident team members and our Personal Protection Division, except for the K9 training—Kat Michaelson will still be in charge of that. Trust me, you’ll have plenty of things to do to keep you busy, and the pay and benefits will be a lot better than you had in the Guard too.”

  When Stefan just sat there, slack-jawed, staring at him, Ian continued. “As I mentioned, this isn’t a pity thing, man. We need someone highly qualified, who can teach and come up with different training ideas. Marco was in charge of firearms qualifications, but with his family now, and Harper being pregnant again—”

  Stefan’s eyebrows lifted. “Seriously? Wow, good for him.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think he’s stopped grinning since he found out. You’d never know he’d been allergic to marriage and kids a while back. Anyway, what do you say? Are you in or are you going to order another round of fast food and proceed to trash your house again?”