by Jenna Howard
Just like Mom, he didn’t want Kate.
Chapter 2
Arms folded on the railing, Kate watched a boat make its way through inky black waters, the running lights sparkling in the night. It looked so serene down there while behind her the party raged on. Music throbbed through the windows, people screamed and shouted. Somewhere in the penthouse suite, her roommates were flirting heavily with the band members of Cyanide. She hadn’t wanted to come. There was zero desire to see who hooked up with who, but her roommates had nagged and begged and finally turned on the bitch because Kate had the power to get them in the door.
Not that it was much of a power.
As always, Cyanide had closed out their tour in Vancouver. As always, Kate went to the show. Usually she went alone, but not this time. This time her roommates had caught wind of her ritual. They had heard of Cyanide’s legendary after party.
The band owned the top floor of the condo building, though no one lived here.
A hand gripped the railing by her elbow. Panic hit her hard and fast until she recognized the tattoo. Fantastic. “I know,” she said as she watched the boat sail by, “this isn’t my world either.”
“No, it’s really not.”
“I’m going. When you find a world good enough for me, let me know.” She straightened but before she could escape, his other hand landed on the railing, fencing her in.
“You’ve been running from me for a year. It stops now.”
Her fingers found one of the knots on her bracelet and she stared at his hands. “I have not.”
“Kate.”
A shiver moved down her spine at the way he said her name. His voice was low with a hint of threat in it. The promise of a threat. “Well, I haven’t. You were gone for most of the year, so it’s like three months.”
“Kate.”
She bit her lips together because the way her name sounded was enough to make her feel breathless. The first time she had met Doyle he had terrified her. Six and half feet of angry, pissed off male. His black hair had been in a wicked mohawk, with a barbell piercing in his eyebrow and a ring in his lip. Tattoos up and down his arms and his black eyes looked at the world with a healthy dose of hate. The mohawk was long gone and the piercings had disappeared along with his drug use and alcohol abuse. The big ball of anger within him still seemed to be there, though he wasn’t punching out paparazzi and complete strangers anymore.
To say that he still terrified her was an understatement. It wasn’t that she feared he’d hurt her. It was that she wanted him to. She wished she could blame the fantasies of those tattooed hands wringing all kinds of pain and pleasure from her on running into him at Edge. But they’d been there for a while.
“Tell me about Edge.”
“It’s a BDSM club. Just across the harbor.” She pointed north. “You can probably—” She gasped in pain when he grabbed her wrist, his grip seeming to press on all the knots at once. Oh holy…
“Breathe through it.”
Her inhale was shaky, as was her exhale. Little hot spots lit up around her skin. Five of them to be exact, because even his thumb was pressing down on the knot against the inside of her wrist.
“Deeper. Take it in, Katey.”
When her breathing was a little more even his fingers relaxed. A humming was in her head and she was thankful the glass railing was there to keep her falling thirty stories to the ground. Fingertips eased under her bracelet, stroking over her skin, stilling where her pulse throbbed.
“Tell me about Edge and pack away the brat because that’s not you.”
She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip tightened just enough to make her feel dizzy. It was hard to think as she stared down at her hand as if she had never seen it before. “How do you know? Maybe I am.”
He caught her chin and turned her so he could see her face. That dark gaze searched and probed, looking for something. “The day you trust enough to brat out will be a day for the books.”
Probably.
“Hey, yo, D!”
She found herself spun around so her front was against Doyle. He pressed her head against his chest, a hand on the side of her head so she was gazing toward Stanley Park. The stale scent of marijuana and whiskey made her wrinkle her nose as a not-so-sober Anderson Reeve stumbled into Doyle. The drummer barely moved beneath the impact. The bassist, however, staggered into the railing with enough force she was surprised he didn’t fall over. She felt it vibrate from Anderson’s body.
“Oh hey, look what you found.” Fingers brushed up her arm like a spider crawling. Her wrist was released and a grunt came from Anderson. She wished she could see what had happened. There was something oddly protective in the way Doyle kept her tucked between him and the railing, his palm warm against her cheek.
“What do you want, Andy?” Doyle’s voice vibrated against her ear. He sounded not so much irritated but unwelcoming, like Anderson was a pile of shit he had just stepped in and he now had to scrape him off his boots. Anderson was the youngest in the band and sometimes she felt older than him and he was forty. For a while he had been sober, but his third marriage fell apart and he had fallen off the wagon. He had a daughter a few years younger than Kate but they weren’t friends. She wasn’t friends with any of the Cyanide kids. Not even her own sister. Maybe if she hadn’t spent eleven years with her mom. When she had first arrived and learned that there were three other kids her age, she had briefly dreamt of friends, but the cold hard reality had been eye-opening. The twins and Anderson’s daughter had been as welcoming to her as the imagined shit on Doyle’s boot. They had never let her forget she had spent the first half of her life in a trailer and that her mom was a junkie groupie.
“Hey, yeah,” Anderson said, his voice slurred from whatever was inside him. “There’s this girl who wants to meet you.”
“Busy.”
“This girl is right up your alley, hey. She comes with her own handcuffs. Do you come with your handcuffs?” Spider fingers crawled up her arm only to disappear. “Hey, man, relax. You need to relax more, D. Hey, hey, you better like it kinky with D, here. Like hard core.”
Doyle pressed on her head and somehow navigated her under his arm. “She does.”
Her stomach went jittery at those two words as he turned, clearly done with the conversation. His fingers pushed against the small of her back, nudging her away. She peeked over her shoulder as he shifted his weight so Anderson couldn’t see her. Well, that was a dismissal. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she slipped inside.
One end of the top floor was locked off and even had a bouncer at the door. The one room open was filled with people and she made her way down the stairs. A hand landed on the small of her back and she flinched away even as she looked up. Surprise flickered through her to see Doyle. He all but propelled her down two halls before he stopped at a door. She watched him dig out a set of keys, unlock the door before she was hustled into a room.
No, she thought. This wasn’t a room but a suite. “Holy…” her voice faded away as she saw an enormous bed that was surrounded by two walls of glass. The noise of the party became muted.
“I need to get out of this shit. Don’t leave.”
He disappeared and she wandered around the bedroom. A laptop was on a desk and pictures of his kids gave the space an intimate touch. His eldest daughter was Natalie’s age, but unlike her sister there was a sweetness to her face, not a spoiled, calculated look that no child should sport. She beamed at the camera as she sat on a swing surrounded by fir trees. Another little girl dangled upside down with a joy that made Kate smile.
They looked happy and loved. Willow and Danielle. Twelve and ten. The youngest had Doyle’s jet black hair and dark eyes while Willow looked like her red-headed mother. That was about all she knew about his daughters because Doyle and his wife had divorced soon after Danielle had been born. He also kept them separate from the Cyanide world.
Lucky girls.
Black drum sticks had been tossed carelessly onto
the desk so she picked one up, rolling it between her palms as she walked over to the sliding doors, ignoring the big bed with its black sheets and mountain of pillows. It was hard to imagine Doyle living here. But there were personal touches all over the place. Movement made her turn. Doyle walked out of a doorway, his hair wet from the shower fell carelessly over his forehead, making him look younger, and worn jeans rode low on his hips while a t-shirt clung to his chest and revealed his tattooed arms. “You live here?”
“I crash here. There’s a difference.”
She nodded as she looked back out the window. She understood that. Instead of staring at the amazing view, she watched his reflection as he crossed to her, his steps muffled by the thick carpet. “Why am I here?”
“We weren’t done.”
The man took up a lot of space, overwhelming everything. It wasn’t just his size that did that. It was what clung to him. An aura of power and control that she noticed a lot of doms at the club had.
He pushed the door open and she closed her eyes to smell the scent of the breeze that came in. Salt seemed to cling to the air and aside from the party noise, there was nothing else. “Better?”
She nodded as she flicked the drum stick side to side between her fingers, wondering how he knew. Needing some distance from him and his ginormous bed, Kate stepped outside. Now the party could be heard. People on the balcony above them, music coming from open windows. He caught the drum stick and pried it from her fingers.
“You fidget a lot.”
She shrugged a shoulder even as her fingers sought out a knot on her bracelet. “Sorry.”
“You don’t at the club.”
Her gaze snapped to him as he leaned against the glass, his hands resting on the railing and his dark eyes on her. “How do you know?”
“Tell me about Edge, Katey.”
“You tell me about Edge.”
He stared at her, then caught her right wrist, turning his attention to her bracelet. It had been one of the first things she had made. Three thin strands of braided leather with five knots evenly spaced. There was no visible connection, the joint was hidden in one of the knots. It was starting to show stress from years of playing with the knots, rolling them back and forth.
Just when she thought he wouldn’t respond, he spoke. “It’s a place where I don’t have to be this.” He rolled his eyes briefly up at the roof of the balcony before he returned to studying the leather. His fingers caressed the inside of her wrist, making her heart thump a little faster while her skin grew warmer. “I don’t have to worry about someone tweeting they just had their ass beaten then fucked by Doyle Kole. It’s a place to relax with friends. A place to unwind by finding a willing body to beat and fuck. It’s a playground, it’s a den of iniquity. Tell me about the knots.” His thumb pressed on one, hard enough that it hurt. “Take it in, Kate.”
Her fingers flexed as the tangle of leather pressed beneath the wrist bone. He pulled her close even as he kept the pressure consistent while his fingers brushed over her skin.
His other hand fisted in her hair and he pulled her head back so she was looking up at him. “Take it fucking in. Breathe it in, hold, let it out then take it in again.” She was drowning in the dark stare, in the pain that radiated up her arm and down into her fingers. When he lifted his thumb, she felt her entire body quiver while heat spread down her spine. “Again,” he demanded and he made her breathe through it as he pressed onto a different knot.
When he let go, she staggered into him and his hand tightened on her hair so her neck arched, all so she maintained eye contact with him.
“The knots.”
“They’re comforting.” A dark eyebrow rose up as he waited for her to expand. “They’re consistent, always there. They…” She looked away, searching for the right word. He tugged hard enough to make her gasp as he made her look back at him. “They ground me. I like feeling them, the shape of the knot and the way it moves when I roll it on my skin, the way it looks. Knots take time to unravel. I like that sense of permanency.”
“Why five?”
She studied her wrist. “One isn’t enough and six is too many.”
High, shrieking laughter drifted down. The noise grated, snagging her attention. He used her hair as a handle so she was looking at him. “Tell me about Edge, Kate.”
She frowned up at him. Why was this so important to him? “Why do you keep asking?”
“I’m not asking. If you look away from me one more time, I will bare your ass and beat it, and not in a fun way.”
Her breath exploded from her. Her ass tightened in reflex because the look on his face said it would hurt and not in a fun way. She wanted to look away but she didn’t. Couldn’t. He found a different knot and she gave a soft cry as tingling pain slithered up her arm like lightening. She actually rose up on her toes. Her hand grabbed onto the waistband of his jeans, needing something to hold onto. A hot throb filled her sex as those black eyes watched. “Take. It. In.”
Oh, God! It was hard to focus as she grew wet.
“I don’t know what it is!”
“Yes, you do. Take it in, girl. Take it in.”
She gasped his name.
“There we go. Right there. Take it in. Hold it for me. The next one is going to make you want to come, but I want you to hold back for me.”
Her fingers tightened and she felt a trickle of wetness on her thigh, an aching throb that moved from her wrist to her clit. He let go and pressed on the next knot. She cried out, her knees buckling.
“Hold it and remember what happens if you close your eyes. Tell me about Edge.”
“It’s the one place I don’t feel scared.”
“Now. Come.”
Her entire body jerked when he let go of her arm and grabbed her ass, holding her up as heat and lightening and tiny darts of released pain raced through her. “Doyle, Sir,” she managed before there was nothing but his hard face watching her come. His fingers dug in as he held her on her toes as she shuddered, her orgasm making her vision blur.
His “Fuck” was eloquent and bang on.
****
Kate – 2002
There was nothing left. Kate stared blankly at the twisted remains of the only home she had ever known. The air smelled of acrid smoke that burned her nose and lungs. Gone. It was all gone. The piddly collection of canned food, her clothes, the pictures. Gone. It was all gone. Others in the trailer park watched the spectacle of the smoldering trailer while the firemen put forth energy to keep the fire from spreading.
Gone.
It was all gone.
Her legs vanished and she dropped down to the ground. She had thought her mom’s overdose was scary. This was worse. Far worse. Because she had nowhere to go. She had nothing now. The clothes she wore were the sum of her life.
The trailer wasn’t much, but it had been all that was keeping her alive. She hadn’t known what she was going to do when she ran out of food, but at least the trailer had been there.
Now it was gone.
Another plume of smoke stretched to the sky and she wondered if that was the remains of her food. Eventually everyone went back to their homes and the fire was finally put out. Not much remained of the aluminum siding. The stairs were gone and Kate could see the melted side of the neighboring trailer through her home. There was nothing.
Absolutely nothing was left.
“Hey kid, you should go home.”
She was home. That was the problem.
What did she do now? She didn’t know how it burned down. It’s not like there was electricity or anything. Probably someone had broken in to do whatever inside. The how didn’t really matter, because she was trying to figure out what to do.
They were looking at her. A grubby kid who had lost far too much weight in the past couple of weeks because she was careful with her dwindling food. Some strange kid sitting on the road, staring at the remains of a home. Mom was gone. The trailer was gone. The next thing to go was her. She’d disappear into
nothing.
“Hey,” the same guy said again. “This is no place for a kid to be right now.”
She tried to stand but her legs had disappeared. Her food. Those precious cans of food. She had no money. No clothes. No food. No hiding place. No safe place.
What did she do now? Kate stared down at her legs, half surprised they were still there. She couldn’t feel them. She couldn’t feel the road beneath her or the cool air on her skin. She was disappearing because there was nothing now.
There was nobody.
Except a name.
Chapter 3
Doyle really wanted a drink. He sat on the only private patio in the entire penthouse, staring out the water and trying to figure out exactly when he had lost control. The party was still going strong. He looked at the door when Kate stepped out. Jesus. Could she look any younger? She wore one of his shirts and it dwarfed her.
Delicate, fragile girl. Her brown hair was wet from the bath he had started for her. She was tiny all over, from her height to her breasts to her toes. Those bare toes with their pale pink painted nails rubbed the back of her calf. Great legs.
His elbow braced on the arm of the chair; he studied her over his fist. She looked so much like a young Jace Jennings it was startling. She had the same jade green eyes, but they had a graveness that would never be in the man. The mouth that was famous on her father for his pouts and snarls was sensual on the daughter. When she came, all that hidden sensuality spilled free.
She was twisting and rolling one of the knots as she watched him.
“Stop fidgeting.”
She lowered her foot though she continued to absently play with her bracelet, like she wasn’t even aware she did it. He crooked a finger at her and she took a step closer, her eyes flicking about nervously. Snapping his fingers to catch her attention, he pointed at his eyes. “Tell me about Edge.”
Her shoulders rose and fell. “I did.”
Doyle found himself studying her. She blushed and looked away. “We’re discussing it again, only without the distractions. Sit down.” He watched her fingers roll a knot as she looked around his balcony, debating her options. There was a matching chair facing his and a padded bench against the railing. The bench was always out there, but he had fetched the chairs from inside. He hated having things hampering his view when he was here. Furniture got in the way.