Dark Consequences (Club Risque Book 4)

by Poppy Flynn

  "You were teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown, mentally debilitated, not yourself," Micah reminded him with deceptive mildness.

  "Yeah, okay," Connor conceded. "And I was a complete dick to her. I reported her to HR because I lost it one day and it all turned out to be a misunderstanding, but the damage was already done, and I couldn't take it back. She poked at me and I pushed back, bawling her out for everything from her clothes to her time keeping. In the end, things would get explosive. One time I spanked her right there in the office, another time she dragged me into the stationary cupboard, but I honestly thought she was giving as good as she got. She bit me on the flamin' hand, for Christ sake!" He rubbed the fleshy part of his thumb as if the pain still bloomed there.

  "But I thought we'd started to iron things out, that last weekend we scened. Got all the frustrations out of our system. I know things got fucked up after the scene with that client, but I honestly didn't expect her to run out like that and pull a disappearing act."

  "It seems that Trinity got caught up in an emergency and didn't manage to intercept Fluff before she saw you scening with Vanity Spanx, so she never got to explain that you were just helping out with a scheduled client. Trinity's been overcome with guilt at the situation, and so have I," Micah continued.

  Connor tipped his head to one side in askance, wondering what on earth his friend had to feel guilty about.

  "I knew Fluff was upset, but I left Charlotte to deal with her while we sorted out the mess with that reporter. I should have intervened at the time, but I was preoccupied, and I thought I would have time to speak to Fluff the next time she came to the club."

  Micah tipped his curly head back on the edge of his chair and stared blindly at the ceiling for several seconds before he levelled his gaze to Connor once more. "My point is that there are a lot of things that several of us might have done differently, but hindsight is always 20/20, and none of us could have guessed the consequences of not acting there and then. Charlotte did the best she could; she even stayed overnight with Laurel, but she didn't really know what was going on, and Laurel did a damn good job of convincing Charlotte that she was okay before she pulled her disappearing act. There's no point in any of us beating ourselves up over things that we can't go back and change. What's important now is how we move forward."

  "And how are things moving forward?" Connor demanded. "Because what I saw on Friday night didn't look all that encouraging."

  "You were at the club on Friday?" Micah stated in surprise.

  "I didn't stay," Connor conceded. "I couldn't stomach watching Laurel with Xavier. And what the hell is going on there? Laurel's no masochist! If she's got all these issues, then why the hell is she still allowed to scene? Jesus Christ, you were quick enough to pull the plug on my membership rights, and I own the place!" he challenged.

  Micah frowned. "They were two completely different scenarios, as well you know," he rebuked. "Laurel needed the support we could provide for her, here, in a controlled environment, where we could keep an eye on her and what was going on. She's a submissive, and therefore, she needed that control at this point in her life more than ever. She needed stability, and we provided it in order to stop her from taking things too far. I don't know how much of Laurel's background you're aware of, but she was an only child of elderly parents who both died within a few months of each other when she was just twenty-one years old. She had no one else to look out for her, and we decided that we couldn't risk the consequences of cutting her loose in the fragile mental state she was in. But you can believe me, when I say I did a very careful and very thorough evaluation on her, and I do regular progress reviews to make sure everything is under control."

  Connor wasn't sure which made him wince more, the fact that he was completely unaware of Laurel's background because he had very deliberately kept her at arm's length, or the fact that he had put Micah in a position where the man felt the need to defend his decisions against Connor's implied criticism.

  One thing was for sure. He sure as hell hadn't been there, himself, to provide any kind of assistance and, if the truth be told, he was glad that Laurel was given the support she needed, whatever form it took and however he felt about it.

  Connor puffed out his cheeks and blew out a breath, willing himself to calm down and think rationally about the situation. The bottom line was that he wanted to do something to try to help Laurel. Not only that, but he felt responsible, whatever Micah might say.

  "So, what's the deal with Xavier?" he queried.

  Micah pursed his lips and almost looked as if he didn't want to answer. When he did, his answer stunned Connor right down to his core. "She's contracted into a 24/7 slave arrangement with him."

  Connor started visibly then buried his head in his hands and rubbed them across his face, while he struggled to get his head around what Micah had just revealed. What. The. Fucking. Hell?

  His concentration was splintered in all directions, and it was a long time before he could gather his thoughts enough to reply. He flat out ignored the feeling that multiple shards of glass had just lodged themselves in his chest.

  "Does she live with him?"

  "No."

  Connor frowned. As much as the thought of Laurel living with another man—another Dom—appalled him, his overwhelming feeling was that, surely, if she was as bad as Micah suggested, then she shouldn't be alone.

  "She isn't the right kind of masochist to suit Xavier."

  "You're right," Micah acknowledged. "But they have a unique arrangement in which Xavier takes on the role of her caretaker."

  "Would he relinquish it?" Connor asked, the words out of his mouth before he was really conscious of what he was offering.

  Micah's intense gaze bored relentlessly into Connor, silently warning him to evaluate carefully whatever it was that he was about to propose.

  "I suspect he would. There is a new member who has recently joined the club. A masochist who reflects Xavi's desires very well and there is an undeniable chemistry between them, but so far, Xavier has resisted any interaction with her because he feels a certain responsibility towards Laurel and won't do anything to undermine her stability."

  "Then set up a meeting. I want to take over Laurel's care."

  "Do you think that's a good idea?" Micah asked cautiously. "You've just barely recovered from your own mental health issues; do you really think it's a good idea to try to take on someone else's?"

  "I have to, Micah," Connor implored. He needed his friend to back him on this. "I fucked things up big time, and I need to try to make things right."

  "It's a full-time slave contract," Micah reminded him.

  "I know, and that's the way I want to keep it," Connor stated decisively. "So I need Xavier to command that Laurel accept me as her new Master, and I need you to evaluate what I have planned and tell me if you think it can work to pull her out of this slump rather than just supporting her through it. It's time to do something proactive."

  Micah took a deep breath. He still seemed torn, and Connor was reminded how the man had defended Charlotte against Jake, when Jake had lost the plot. Micah always saw everything so clearly. He held his breath, knowing this decision would be crucial. If Micah didn't back him, then his grand plan of rehabilitation would never get off the ground.

  "Okay," his friend finally decided, but before Connor could sigh a breath of relief, Micah qualified his endorsement. "But only because she is stuck and not progressing at all. And you can bet your entire Investment Portfolio that I will be watching closely, and I will pull the plug if I think it's at all detrimental…to either of you!"

  Chapter 17

  Laurel looked blankly between her own Master, Master Micah, and Master Connor. They were all talking and cajoling and demanding, but somehow, her brain was having trouble processing what was going on.

  Finally, Master Xavier rose and commanded her to her knees in front of him. Laurel slipped out of the comfortable seat in Master Micah's office and onto the floor, he
edless of the cold, hard tile beneath her knees, and the confusion in her mind and the constriction in her chest immediately eased.

  "Shadow, I have a new command for you, and you are to follow my wishes as your Master until I absolve you from them. Is that understood?"

  "Yes, Master," Laurel agreed dutifully, her head bowed in unquestioning deference while Connor tried to keep his face devoid of any reaction to both the change in her club name and her attitude.

  "I am putting Master Connor in charge of your care for the foreseeable future. He will be your Master now, and you will answer to him. Is that clear?"

  Laurel was quiet for so long that Connor found himself on tenterhooks awaiting her response.

  Xavier clearly thought she was taking too long, too, but his response was markedly different. He snapped the wicked looking crop he carried against the side of his boot with a resounding crack that made Laurel jump as he bellowed, "Shadow!"

  "Yes, Sir!" Laurel scrambled to answer, and Connor had to contain his anger at Xavier's high-handed treatment. Still, it had gotten the response he required.

  "Do you understand what I'm telling you, Shadow?" he asked again, more softly.

  "Yes, Master, I do," she responded immediately.

  Xavier extended his hand and invited her to take it, helping Laurel to her feet when she did so. Connor looked away when he pulled her into a surprisingly tender embrace, for a sadist, and kissed her forehead.

  "From now on, you do whatever Connor tells you. He is your Master now."

  With that, Xavier threw one hard look at Connor and walked out of the door without so much as a backward glance.

  Laurel stood where he had left her, head still bowed, and a slight tremor shivering through what had become far too slight a frame.

  "Laurel," Micah said calmly. "Are you happy with what Master X has told you?"

  "It is his command," Laurel replied so tonelessly that it made Connor's fists clench.

  "It is," Micah agreed. "But that doesn't mean you don't have a choice."

  Laurel said nothing, just gave two slow blinks.

  Micah sighed quietly. "Are you happy to go with Master Connor?"

  "My Master has commanded it," Laurel simply reiterated.

  "Master Connor is your Master now. Will you do as he commands?" Micah tried a different tactic.

  There was a small pause, then, "Yes, Sir."

  Connor let out the breath he didn't know he was holding and climbed to his feet.

  "Come then, pet. Let's get you home." Laurel followed him like the dutiful little slave she had become, and Connor tried not to get irritated. This was what he had signed up for—literally. Micah had all the paperwork made up, and he and Xavier had already penned their signatures, as did Laurel before they left his office. But Connor couldn't help mourning the feisty, go-getting brat that she had once been.

  Laurel had accompanied Xavier to the club, so Connor drove her home. Once there, he unloaded his suitcase from the boot of the car and indicated that she precede him into her little apartment before he took charge.

  "Okay Laurel, I have a few rules."

  There was no acknowledgement; she simply looked at him and waited patiently.

  Connor gritted his teeth and continued. "From now on, I will refer to you by your given name. No more Shadow!" he told her decisively. He found he despised that name with a vengeance, not just because it was the name she used in her relationship with another Dom, but because of what it implied. Laurel was nobody's shadow.

  She didn't respond, and he didn't expect her to. That would come, though; he was determined that it would, even if he had to stay here indefinitely to evoke it. He'd already silently made that promise to them both.

  "Now, I want you to make some room available for my things, so that I can unpack," he told her, picking up his suitcase again and gesturing in the direction of the bedroom.

  If there was the tiniest flicker of a frown between her brows, then it was gone before Connor could be sure.

  Dinner that evening was a silent affair. Laurel offered nothing, and Connor didn't really know what to say. But he did know one thing. He needed to get his shit together and be the Master Laurel needed to get herself well again. A thought occurred to him.

  "Laurel, are you taking any medication for your depression?"

  "No," she said quietly, not looking up from the food he had cooked for her, even though she seemed mostly to only be moving it around her plate.

  Connor frowned. "Have you seen your doctor about this matter?"

  "Yes," she replied, again not offering anything more in depth.

  Connor gritted his teeth. Patience, he reminded himself. Losing his temper would do neither of them any good. This was a new situation, for both of them, and Connor needed to get used to the dynamic just as much as Laurel did. If anything, she seemed to be far more at ease with the situation than he was, but then Laurel appeared to be well used to taking orders and doing exactly what was demanded from her.

  Connor, on the other hand, had never had any desire to have a slave, and to find one suddenly dependent on him was straining the comfort of his self-imposed boundaries.

  "Did the doctor suggest that you might find medication beneficial?" he tried again.

  "Yes."

  "Did he give you a prescription?"

  "Yes."

  "So why aren't you taking it?"

  "I couldn't afford to get it filled."

  Connor screwed his eyes shut and made a concerted effort to keep his tone even.

  "Don't your company benefits include health care?"

  "Yes."

  Connor waited, but she said no more. Patience, he reminded himself once again, pressing his lips together to stop an epithet from slipping out.

  "So?" he queried with exaggerated care, elongating the word into two syllables and forcing a response that could not be given as a yes or no answer.

  For the first time, Laurel paused, as if having to think for herself caused her to falter.

  "Umm…I don't think it covers medication?" she posed the reply as a question, a frown giving her the first true expression he'd seen from her so far.

  "Right, well, tomorrow, I will check into that, but either way, we'll get that script filled."

  Laurel opened her mouth, and for a brief moment he thought she might argue, but all she said was, "Yes, Sir."

  One hurdle down, and as Connor attempted to question Laurel further, he rapidly came to the realisation that she required absolute instruction in everything she did, or she would just sit there and look blankly at whatever was in front of her. Connor was seriously beginning to wonder how she even managed to function since the arrangement she had with Xavier had been a remote one, but a quick phone call to the sadist provided a few of the answers he needed. It seemed a lot of Laurel's commands were sweeping and far reaching and broadly covered things like how she spent her evenings or getting to work on a daily basis. Those, it seemed, were block commands that stayed in place and were taken as a given, from one day to the next.

  After sending Laurel to have a relaxing bath, Connor cleared the dishes and noted that she'd eaten very little of her meal. No wonder she'd become so damn scrawny. Well, at least that was one thing he could take care of with a few well-placed commands. Next time they ate, he would require her to finish whatever was put in front of her.

  It was slow going. Baby steps, Connor reminded himself on more than one occasion. Two weeks had passed, and Connor was hoping that the medication he had bought would soon start to kick in. He had checked in with the pharmacist and had been told that it would probably take a while for any clear results to be seen. In the meantime, things were often excruciating.

  The workday was fairly straight forward, although, on their first morning together, Laurel had stood patiently in front of her wardrobe while she waited to be told what to wear.

  Connor had woken up tired and disoriented, and it wasn't until Laurel hadn't appeared for breakfast and he'd gone in search of
her that he'd realised the issue. Master X, it seemed, gave her instructions every day regarding her clothing. Connor had picked out an outfit, and there and then, he had vowed that would be one of the first crutches he was going to break her of.

  For the next week, he had attempted to get some kind of reaction and refusal from her by making her outfits more and more inappropriate, but she hadn't balked at any of his directives. Not even when he demanded that she go to work without any underwear. It had taken another few days before he realised that the answer was much easier than he had been making it.

  It turned out that all he needed to do was tell her to pick something out for herself. And that was effective in other areas, too, as long as they weren't too far reaching. She didn't seem to be able to apply that choice to how she might like to spend her evening, but Connor could ask her to choose a movie, or a TV drama, or even a restaurant to eat at, and that worked fine. This week, he had taken things a step further and asked her to prepare her own choice of evening meal for him. It had taken a little more encouragement, but she had managed it in the end, even if it had taken an inordinate amount of time because she couldn't seem to accept that if she needed a specific ingredient, she could just pop to the grocery store to buy it. He had directed her to plan meals for the following week and make herself a shopping list, so she was prepared. It was a step in the right direction.

  Bedtime was an eye opener. Laurel did as he bade and slept alongside him, but while he had to constantly remind himself to keep his hands to himself and not behave in what he, himself, felt to be an inappropriate manner, Laurel seemed to have no such problems. Every night, she lay down in bed when he told her it was time, on her back, as rigid as a board, with no part of her body coming into contact with any part of his.

  Of course, whatever was going on in that unresponsive little head of hers, sleep clearly managed to rob her of the rigidity, since he woke up every morning with her snuggled into his arms, her legs entwined with his own. He could tell the minute she became alert because her body would stiffen, and she would uncurl herself from his embrace and take herself to the bathroom without having to be told. No matter how it disappointed him, he took heart in the fact that her unconscious mind was still receptive and that her reaction also prompted her to act for herself in one small thing.