Unforgettable (Black Rose Doms Book 1)

by Rory Reynolds

  It’s something my mom used to do when I was sick. The memory of my mother makes my breath catch, and I push back the emotional pain. I can’t handle it on top of the physical pain I’m feeling now. Hell, if I’m honest, I can’t handle it when I’m not in physical pain. I’ve been burying my grief for so long it’s second nature by now. He gently rubs the space between my eyebrows, smoothing out the stress lines that my memory has put there.

  “You’re at the club in a recovery suite,” his voice is like warm molasses, “I brought you here after Damon threw you off the stage.” He says Damon’s name like a curse.

  Without being asked, he reaches for a plastic cup from the table just beside him. He presses the bendy straw to my lips, and I take a tentative sip. The cool water is like a balm to my aching throat, and I greedily drink it down.

  “Slow down, love,” he cautions. Once I’ve had my fill, he sets the cup aside. “Are you in much pain?”

  My snort of laughter surprises him. “Pain doesn’t even describe what I am feeling, try agony. I think if I were to do much more than blink, I would pass out from how bad it hurts.”

  Only one other time in my life have I hurt this bad, and it wasn’t my body that hurt. It was my heart. Grief bubbles up to the surfaces, and I push it back. I’m not going there. Those thoughts are even more taboo than the ones of my mother.

  “I’ll get the doctor. She couldn’t give you any pain medication since we had no way to know if you were allergic or not. I’m afraid other than the salve, we haven’t been able to do much except keep you hydrated.” I cringe as I’m reminded of the IV in my hand. “Be right back,” he says before raising from the chair and striding out of the room.

  2

  Rose

  When he leaves the room, I take a few minutes to collect my thoughts. I haven’t thought of my mother or… or the other for a very long time. The pain I’m in has my defenses down, and that’s unacceptable. I close my eyes and imagine the wall I built around all the things I can’t deal with. Try as I might the wall won’t go back up. The emotional hurts keep spilling out, amplifying my pain. I realize I’m crying. Whether my tears are from my emotional pain or physical, I don’t know. Both are crippling.

  Please, God, just let me forget again, I pray. Please. I visualize the crumbled wall in my mind and carefully start to pick up the bricks and stack them back together. It’s no longer the strong, tall wall it once was. Now the bricks are haphazardly stacked and held together with metaphorical bubble gum and duct tape, but it will have to do. Just as I stick the final brick into place and the memory of my mother’s face disappears behind it, the door to my room opens.

  There’s no knock or warning of anyone approaching except the click-clack of high-heeled shoes on the tile floor. “So I hear you are finally back with us,” a reedy voice quips as she comes into my line of sight. “Some mess you got yourself into. A fine mess, indeed. Master Bennett tells me that you’re in a great deal of pain and understandably so,” she tsks. “I can give you some pain medication which you should use because frankly, you have a long road of recovery, and without it, you won’t be getting rid of that catheter anytime soon.”

  Well, that’s news to me I didn’t even know I had a catheter in. The lady, who I’m assuming is the doctor, doesn’t pause for my response, so I just blink stupidly as she carries on a one-sided conversation.

  “Do you have any allergies I should be aware of? Do you have a primary care physician? Who is it that will be assisting in your recovery? I can get you my card, and I can handle your care if need be, it would be charged to your account here at the club and added to your fees.”

  My head spins at all her questions. I hardly know which one to answer first, again I only manage to blink up at her. “Well?” she asks, seeming a bit put out by my silence. She turns a pointed look to the person standing just behind her. “Has she spoken at all? Did you find her membership records yet?”

  I notice for the first time that the man, who I’m beginning to think of as my hero, is standing just behind the doctor. I was so overwhelmed by the doctor and her rapid-fire questions I hadn’t even noticed him. I give him a pleading look, and he steps forward, grabbing my hand, then runs his thumb over my knuckles soothing me. My tense muscles relax, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.

  “No doc, we don’t have her membership records. From my understanding, she was brought as a guest, and Adrianne didn’t verify her information. No one else in the club recognized her to give us a name. Damon, of course, is no help,” my whole body stiffens at the sound of Damon’s name, “and until about ten minutes ago, she’s been unconscious. So no, I don’t know who she is… yet.”

  His tone is quite harsh with the doctor, and I notice she averts her gaze from his and looks submissively towards the floor. “I’m sorry, sir, I meant no disrespect. I forgot my place.”

  He nods to her, then turns his burning blue gaze back to me. “Miss, can you answer the doctor’s questions?”

  I shift my head in just a tiny nod and open my mouth to speak, again only a hoarse whisper comes out.

  “Drink?” I manage to choke out. My throat feels like sandpaper again. I feel a straw tap against my bottom lip, and I instinctively wrap my lips around it and take a deep pull. The cool water floods my mouth, and I choke slightly as I swallow, but I don’t pull away from the straw. I look up expecting the doctor to be holding the cup, but it’s him—my hero—and he’s staring at me with a look I don’t recognize. I suck on the straw until the cup runs dry. I drink so long and hard that I have to catch my breath before I can speak.

  I manage a half-smile for my hero. “Thank you.” He returns my smile with the sexiest devil-may-care grin I’ve ever seen. It lights his whole face up and makes him impossibly more attractive. Wow. “I feel much better.”

  “Great!” The doctor interjects, breaking whatever that brief moment was. “So allergies?”

  I look back to the doctor and take her in, she’s an attractive Latino woman, probably in her mid to late thirties. Her eyes are a warm chocolate, and her hair is pulled into a tight knot on the back of her head. She’s dressed in a sharp dress suit, and she gets several inches of her height from her shoes.

  “No, I haven’t got any allergies that I am aware of, I’ve had pain medications in the past with no trouble.” I answer the easiest of her many questions first. She nods and pulls out a needle. My heart skips a beat or ten, and I start to hyperventilate. Once again, my hero comes to my rescue kneeling down in front of me, he meets my gaze and continues his rhythmic caress of my knuckles.

  “Shhh, it’s okay, love, she doesn’t have to poke you with that, she is only going to put it in the IV line. Just breathe. I won’t let anything bad happen to you, you’re safe with me.” His tone is smooth and gentle. He’s so confident that what he says is true that I allow myself to be soothed by him once again. He flashes me another smile. “There’s a good girl.”

  Seconds later, I feel the heat of the pain medication in my veins. My body slowly numbs, and the tension I didn’t realize I was holding onto seeps out of my muscles. Taking a few minutes to fully enjoy the numbness, I stare into the face of the man in front of me. He’s still kneeling, watching me closely for distress. I can’t help but wonder why he is so invested in me. I don’t even know his name. The doctor called him Master Bennett, but we haven’t been introduced.

  He must be a dominant like Damon, no, not like Damon. I can’t picture this man being so cruel. I can’t imagine calling such a kind man ‘master.’ He’s nothing like Damon. Even knowing virtually nothing about this man, I have no doubt that he’s the opposite of my old master. I bet Damon is furious. I giggle at the thought of a red-faced Damon stomping around his big mansion, pouting like a child whose favorite toy was taken away. The pain medicine must be really good because I don’t ever giggle.

  Now that I am feeling more relaxed, I ask, “Where is mas—I mean Damon?”

  In an instant, the gentle look leaves my hero’s face
, and in its place is a mask of rage. I flinch back from him, worried that I’m the one he’s angry with. I open my mouth to apologize but think better of speaking when he’s like this and close it again. One thing I’ve learned over the years is silence is best in these situations. Seconds tick by, and he takes a deep breath, the rage pushed aside. “I assume he’s at home or work.”

  “Oh… Does he know where I am?”

  “He knows I’ve taken charge of you,” he replies shortly.

  I chew on my lip as I think things over. “When do I go back?” I don’t want to ask, but I would rather have time to prepare myself for the inevitable. I signed a contract. I owe Damon six months of my life, and there is no escape clause unless I can pay him back in full plus interest.

  My hero stands and paces away from me, I swear I hear him growl before he leaves my side. If his reaction weren’t so scary, I would think it’s hot. “That, I suppose, is up to you. Do you want to go back?” he asks, a look of hurt flashing over his beautiful features before he schools them again.

  “Oh,” I chew harder on my lip while I think of how to answer him. “I would rather never go back, but he owns me for the next six months. I don’t really have a choice.”

  Buck up, don’t you dare cry, I scold myself as my eyes burn with unshed tears. You did what you had to do when you signed that damn contract. It’s only six months. I sigh deeply as I try to reason with myself.

  He paces back up to my bedside and drops down to his position in front of me again, “You have a choice. Those contracts aren’t legally enforceable. They’re just for a dominant and submissive to set ground rules and expectations.” He says it with such confidence that I want to believe him, but I know he’s wrong. My contract is unique.

  I squeeze my eyes closed tight, trying to force the dreaded tears back. My breath shudders out as I try to suppress my sobs. “My contract is different,” I whisper. “He—” I stumble over my words, not wanting to reveal the reason behind my contract, “hired me as an employee with a six-month contract. The only way out is something I’m unable to do. Only Damon can release me early, and I can’t see him doing that.”

  I don’t mention that Damon insinuated that the only way he’d release me early would be to put me in a pine box.

  This time I know I hear him growl as he stands up and starts pacing. With a curse, he pulls a sleek cell phone out of his pocket and deftly sweeps his finger over the screen a few times before lifting it to his ear. “Daniels, get over to Damon’s place. Figure out what it will take to get the girl out of her contract.” He pauses, listening to whatever Daniels says. “No,” he snaps. “I don’t fucking care what it takes, just make it fucking happen.” Another pause. “Yes, by any means necessary.” He swipes at the screen again and shoves the phone back into his pocket before addressing me again, “We will figure it out, no worries.”

  I am floored by his confidence and the fact that he is so willing to help a complete stranger out of trouble. I let the tears flow freely now. “Oh, God, thank you.”

  As I cry, he runs his fingers through my hair gently. The pain medication is fully working now. Each time I blink, I think I am losing minutes instead of seconds. Between one blink and the next, the doctor is gone. Another and my hero’s back at his post in the chair by my bedside. The only difference is that instead of holding my hand, he’s concentrating on his phone. I must’ve dozed off for quite a while because the only light in the room is from the moonlight streaming in the large windows.

  I stretch my arms and legs slightly, trying to flex my stiff muscles. It feels like I have been lying here for days. Surprisingly enough, though my backside is sore, the pain seems manageable. Feeling brave, I move a little more and find that while it is better, I’m far from healed.

  I turn my head towards the door, and I’m shocked to see my hero slumped in the chair still. He’s wearing different clothes than I remember, and he’s clean-shaven. The lack of facial hair doesn’t take anything away from his handsomeness, but I kind of miss the rugged look.

  I groan a little as I start to feel all the aches and pains in my muscles and joints. At the sound of my groan, he shoots up out of the chair, causing it to slide backward. He looks around the room in an almost panic, for what I’m not sure. It would be hilarious, but the fierce look on his face keeps me from laughing at his cartoonish reaction.

  After assessing the room and obviously not finding what he was looking for, his gaze lands on me. When he notices I’m awake, his lips tip up in a smile. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

  I start to respond in kind, but a huge yawn slips out at the same time garbling my words, I laugh a little awkwardly and apologize. He shakes his head, and his eyes sparkle in amusement. “How long have I been out?” I ask after another little yawn.

  He cocks his head slightly to the side as if he is trying to decide how to answer the question, or maybe he doesn’t know. Just because he was here every time I remember waking up, doesn’t mean he’s been here with me the entire time.

  “Three days,” he shakes his head briefly like he is trying to shrug off an unpleasant memory. “Nearly four, actually.”

  Four days, wow. I try to think back to the times I woke up, and all I can remember is pain. I vaguely remember having a nightmare. Being scared. Then hard hands holding me tight without hurting me. Screaming… Thrashing… it’s all a garbled mess in my head. Probably from the pain medication. I still feel sluggishness from it, but it’s definitely wearing off.

  His gentle touch on my hair brings me back to the here and now. “How are you feeling?”

  “Honestly?”

  “I always want the truth. Especially where your well-being is concerned.”

  It takes me a second to digest his words. Why would this stranger care so much? It doesn’t make sense, but his firm confidence is unquestionable, and I find myself being honest even though it makes me feel vulnerable.

  “I’m a little confused. I think I remember bits and pieces of the last few days, but I’m not sure what’s real and what’s a dream.”

  He doesn’t respond with anything more than another nod. His eyes travel down my body, several things flash through them as he takes me in. The anger and sadness I understand, the guilt not so much. I don’t know why he would ever feel guilty for what happened. He didn’t do this to me, Damon did. His eyes sweep back up my body taking it all in again, then for the briefest instant, I swear I see desire in his eyes.

  It’s then that I realize a couple of things: First being, that I’m completely naked, which causes me to instantly flush in embarrassment. The second, I still don’t have a clue who this man is and what he wants from me.

  The doctor calling him Master Bennett flits through my mind and plants the seed of an idea. What if he wants the same thing Damon did? That little seed grows like poison until I can feel the panic bubbling to the surface.

  I don’t realize I’m hyperventilating until he kneels in front of me. Once his face is level with mine, I notice his lips moving. He’s speaking softly to me, but I can’t hear his words over the wheezing of my breath and the blood rushing through my veins. Those gentle fingers of his run through my hair while he runs the thumb of his other hand over my knuckles again. I don’t remember him grabbing ahold of my hand. I focus on the way his thumb feels as it caresses me and the gentle tug of his fingers through my hair, slowly my breathing evens out. I can finally hear the words he’s saying, well singing actually. He’s singing a song I don’t recognize, but his voice is amazing.

  He’s amazing.

  I pull a deep breath into my lungs and release it slowly like I learned long ago. I’ve had anxiety attacks for as long as I can remember, brought on by any number of triggers. He leans back, taking his hand from my hair, but when he goes to remove his hand from mine, I grip onto it tighter, a silent plea for him not to leave me alone. “I’m s-sorry,” I stutter, “Anxiety issues.”

  “It’s okay, love. I understand you’ve been through a lot.” His wor
ds are calm and kind. “Are you in much pain? I can give you another dose of pain meds, the doc has basically kept you asleep after you…” he gets quiet for a minute while he thinks about how to nicely put what I now realize was not a dream at all. I can’t hold in the sigh, nor can I hold back the silent tears that fall without my permission.

  “After I had a nightmare and freaked the fuck out?” I finish for him.

  “I was going to say episode, but freaking the fuck out pretty much sums it up. We were worried you would hurt yourself further, and not really knowing your medical history, the doc thought it would be best to keep you sedated.” He shrugs in apology. “Do you need more medicine?”

  “I won’t lie, it fucking hurts, but I don’t want the medicine. At least not yet.” I really want to ask him some questions. Now that my head is less fuzzy, I’m starting to remember bits and pieces. I vaguely recall talking about Damon and a phone call he made asking someone to speak to him about the contract.

  I desperately want to ask, but I’m afraid of what he will say. If I have to go back to Damon, he will kill me. I know that now, but if I don’t go back, what will this man demand as payment? I know Damon wouldn’t let me go for free. Sucking in another lungful of air and pulling up my imaginary big girl panties, I decide to ask my questions. Might as well get it over with. Like ripping off a band-aid.

  “Did you really take care of my contract, or was that just a hopeful dream?”

  He pushes his fingers to the bridge of his nose and slumps into the chair behind him. He drops his hand and levels me with his midnight blue eyes. “Damon didn’t want to release you, but in the end, I was able to convince him it was for the best.”

  I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I feel like he only told me part of the story. “I’m free?” I ask, just to make sure I didn’t misunderstand.

  “Yes,” he says, “Damon won’t be coming back for you.”

  Again, I don’t feel like that’s the whole truth of the matter, and I know I’m going to regret asking, but I have to know. “How is that even possible?”