Disciplined By The Dom (Club Volare)

by Cox, Chloe

  And the whole time, he thought he was heartless.

  “Catie?” Lola said.

  “Sorry,” Catie said. “Can I think about it? I’m just a little distracted. I have a session scheduled in maybe five minutes. It’s…on my mind.” She gave a shy little smile.

  Lola’s voice softened. “I was asked to include you in one of the morning’s group classes instead. I don’t think Jake will continue to be available.”

  Catie shook her head, smiling, until she saw that Lola was serious. She’d been…bumped. Without a phone call. Passed off, without explanation. First Jake had tried to scare her off by being an asshole, then he was an asshole, and then he made a difficult, heart-rending apology while trying to explain himself, all the time giving her the best sex of her life while insisting they not become personally attached to each other. And now this.

  It shouldn’t be that big a deal, should it? It should make her choice easier. Then why did she feel like she was about to cry? She should take the folder. She should take it right now, copy what she could. She should take the contents straight to Brazzer.

  She didn’t wait to hear what they had to say. She’d heard bad news like this too many times, in too many different ways. She thought about her father, she thought about her grandmother, she thought about the bored voice of Mr. Everett, she thought about all her shitty ex-boyfriends, and she felt a slow, steady, inexorable tide of panic rising inside her, winding its way around her gut, wrapping itself around her chest, slowly threatening to squeeze the life out of her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, stumbling her way towards the door. “I have to go.”

  Catie ran blindly out the door and away from Volare.

  chapter 14

  The weather was still terrible, a freezing rain spit sideways out of an angry sky, the wind battering the pedestrians into the sides of buildings. The boutique hotel that housed Volare on its top floor was in a trendy, gentrified part of the city, which meant no subway within a sane distance. There was only an exposed bus stop, the pitiful shelter long since ripped away, ice covering the bench.

  For a moment, Catie didn’t mind the biting cold. It fit how she felt: angry, bitter, furious with herself for feeling guilty. For not accepting that folder. For being such a coward, for being foolish, for being unable to decide who to be, one way or the other. She’d finally had a worthwhile goal in life, something that didn’t just involve her own shallow, egotistic desires, something that was actually about someone else, and she’d fucked it up. She was fucking up because she was a sap. Because she had childish notions about loyalty and honor. Because she was so easily taken in by the promise of a man who always tried to do his best. Who was there for people, in whatever way he could be. Because she saw more in him than he saw in himself, even if he didn’t want her.

  But he’d warned her, hadn’t he? He’d warned her not to get attached. It was her own damn fault.

  If she kept crying, the tears would freeze on her cheeks. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and looked around for somewhere to huddle against the wind, or at least somewhere to get a hold of herself. There was a shallow alley in the middle of the block, a remnant from an older city, when deliveries were made by carts or something. Double doors in the filthy ground led down to the storage area of the restaurant on the corner. The restaurant was closed, the alley empty, and she’d be able to look for the bus from there. She jogged toward it, head down against the wind.

  The sudden stillness as she entered the alley left a ringing in her ears. The wind howled out on the avenue, and the rain still fell, freezing where it hit the ground. The alley was a winter oasis, warmed by the steam vents from the buildings on either side.

  But it wasn’t empty.

  He was huddled against a vent, scrunched up. He rose up to his full height, face half hidden by a hood, and she saw that he was thin. What might be called ‘wiry’ if he didn’t look so strung out. She couldn’t tell how old he was. Younger than her, probably.

  It wasn’t until he moved toward her with an exaggerated nonchalance that she remembered to be afraid. She could see his eyes moving quickly, sweeping up and down the alley while he blew into his red, raw hands.

  She shouldn’t have stopped. She shouldn’t have made eye contact.

  “You got a dollar?” he said. Like they knew each other. Were old friends.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Gimme a dollar,” he said, more forcefully.

  “Sorry, I’m just on my way—”

  He stepped in front of her. “Give me your fucking wallet.”

  Catie froze. She had imagined a scene like this a million times when she’d first decided to come to New York. She’d imagined herself fighting back, smacking the guy in the face with her bag, running away. Now she had no idea what to do. She couldn’t stop thinking about what came next. If she gave him her wallet, what happened after that?

  “Bitch, are you deaf?”

  He took another step towards her, angry, furious, his face twisted up. Like she’d insulted him, too. Like he hated her for having money, a warm coat, for being afraid of him. Catie felt out of time, unable to move, just watching him come toward her in slow motion, until she heard her name.

  “Catie?”

  She snapped awake, the look of recognition on her face warning the boy with the hoodie. He hesitated, just for a moment. Catie screamed, “Jake!”

  The boy in the hoodie turned, and Catie saw Jake over his shoulder, stepping into the alley. Jake, without a coat, his suit wet from the rain. Jake, his eyes resting on her, and then on the boy. Then clouding with fury.

  The boy sidestepped and ducked his head down, like he was just walking through, minding his own business. Jake charged into the alley, grabbed him by the shoulders, and threw him against the wet brick with a sickening thud. The kid fell to the ground, scrabbled up, and tried to run. He found Jake there, grabbing him, lifting him back up, towards the wall, with all the strength of anger and fear. Jake held him, pinned and struggling, drew a fist back, and stopped.

  The boy’s hood had fallen back. Jake was looking at his face.

  They stood there like that, Jake breathing hard, shoulders heaving, hulking, full of adrenaline and wanting to put it somewhere, the kid looking for a way out, looking smaller and skinnier by the second. Then it happened. Catie saw it on his face: the rage drained away, that look of pain, of grief, in its place, and then he looked at her.

  “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  The kid made a sudden move to dart away, his ratty sneakers scuffing on the wet pavement. Jake moved quickly and grabbed him by the back of the hoodie, got hold of one wrist. He held him effortlessly, and walked them both gently back to the wall.

  “Easy,” she heard Jake say. “Do you have a weapon?”

  The kid didn’t answer. She saw Jake lean forward, saw him whisper something. He turned the kid around and looked at him. Jake’s face was unreadable. He stood there for a moment, not doing anything, his eyes far away. Then she saw him reach into his pockets. He gave the kid some money, a card.

  The kid ran.

  It was just the two of them, alone, in the cold. Jake’s breath made clouds in the wet air, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his white shirt stuck to his chest.

  “You’re soaked,” he finally said to her.

  She laughed, grateful that the rain hid her tears. Catie had no idea what she was going to do next, but she knew it couldn’t involve betraying the man who’d just thrown himself into danger to save her.

  ~ ~ ~

  It wasn’t until they’d settled into a frozen silence in the back of the black town car Jake had on standby that he remembered that not all was well between them. He had only found her in that alley because she’d run. She’d run because she was upset. Because his choices had upset her. Now that the rush of near-violence was fading, the temporary closeness of a close call had fallen away, and they were left with the reality of what had come
before.

  He’d fucked up.

  He’d been rash. He’d been so rattled by his uncharacteristic displays of emotion, by his inability to control himself around her, by the unfamiliar feelings she provoked, that he’d been even more uncharacteristically rash in his reaction, and the result was that she’d been hurt. Worse, he’d tried to deny it.

  But it had all been exposed when he’d seen her, threatened, in that alley. What he’d felt then terrified him. What he’d felt himself capable of. He’d wanted to destroy that boy, destroy him utterly, until the moment that his hood had fallen back.

  He’d looked so much like Stephan.

  Maybe not the Stephan of better times. Maybe it was just the resemblance of a junkie.

  In those slow, frozen seconds, it had all flooded back. And he’d remembered the reason he’d agreed to train Catie in the first place, the reason he hadn’t just sent her to Roman to deal with: his promise. For all her posturing, for all the threat she posed to Volare, she couldn’t hide her loneliness. And Volare was perfect for her. If there was ever someone who needed to discover themselves, it was her, and she was the most natural sub he’d ever encountered.

  No, that wasn’t quite right. She felt natural with him.

  And he was supposed to help her. He could imagine Roman dealing with the issue of the thesis just fine, but he felt he should be the one to be there for Catie herself. Be there, in whatever way he could. Do whatever he was able to do. He’d forgotten, somehow, and her ability to make him feel in new, unimagined ways clouded his mind, confused his purpose. The very thing that made her special to him made it harder for him to be unselfish.

  It had been difficult to convince her to even accept a ride. He felt her retreating from him even now. She looked steadily out the window, into the rain, seeing nothing, yet determined not to look at him.

  “Thank you,” she said suddenly.

  Taken completely off-guard, he grappled for a response.

  “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he said, embarrassed. “That was just…what one does.”

  Too late he realized how impersonal that sounded. He saw the edges of her head tilt more towards the window, saw her face in the reflection: it was pained.

  He tried again. “I meant that the alternative was unacceptable. Not…”

  Shit.

  “I would not have chased just anybody out in the rain.” She half turned to him. He went on. “I, in fact, have never chased anybody out into the rain. I hate the goddamn rain. And I’ve never been in a fight. I abhor violence. I’ve never understood the need for it, until today.”

  She had started to smile, and as he finished she looked at him with sympathy.

  “You might say it was personal,” she said.

  He sighed. “Yes.”

  He had thought that would make her…well, if not happy, then perhaps satisfied? At a minimum, he would have expected that admission to relieve some of her evident unhappiness. Instead it seemed to make things worse.

  He was, again, as always, with this woman, completely out of his depth.

  They didn’t speak again until the car turned onto Cabrini Boulevard, up on the very north end of the island, and they could both see the flashing lights in front of a dilapidated apartment building. Catie leaned forward, trying to get a better look.

  “Shit,” she said under her breath.

  “Is that your building?” he asked. There were several fire trucks, police cars. The entire block seemed sealed off.

  “Yeah.” Her voice was tense, brittle. It held the fragility of a life easily upended, of the fear of circumstances beyond her control. It was a tone of voice he remembered in Eileen Corrigan, years ago.

  He instructed the driver to pull up slow, rolled down his own window. He recognized a police captain from a Police Benevolent Association dinner; an up and comer, a political animal, groomed for advancement. Good. He could work with that.

  “Stay here,” he said. “Let me see what I can do.”

  Jake couldn’t understand the crowds at first. Rain—especially freezing rain—usually kept away any rubberneckers, but there were what looked like hundreds of people milling about, braving the weather. He got closer and it hit him: those must be the residents. He looked up; the top floors were blackened by smoke and fire.

  “Captain Seenan,” he called out. It took a moment for the captain to place him. When he did, you could see the gears begin to whirl in his head. The captain called out an order and walked over.

  “Mr. Jayson, what can I do for you?”

  The Jayson name had its advantages.

  “What’s going on?”

  “A fire on the top floor, fire department responds, puts out the fire, and in the process discovers serious health hazards. Whole building’s being evacuated.”

  “When will the residents be allowed back in?”

  The captain looked at him. “Serious hazards. Asbestos, electrical, structural. To be frank, the place is a shithole. Shoulda been condemned years ago. I doubt any of these city departments are gonna give the ok anytime soon. In fact, heads are probably gonna roll that the building was kept in this state. Somebody was greasing the wheels, you know?”

  “You’re saying it’s condemned?”

  “Is your interest in this personal, sir?”

  That word again. Jake eyed him. “Yes, you could say that. A friend of mine has been staying here.”

  “Well, my best advice is to find that friend someplace else to stay, sir. I don’t know how the city’s going to handle this, but I don’t think anyone’s getting back inside that building.”

  Jake looked back at the town car. He could just see the shape of Catie’s head in the tinted windows.

  “Can I ask a favor, Captain?” he said. Those were the magic words. Captain Seenan’s face lit up. Doors had opened for people who had done favors for the Jayson family.

  “Name it, sir.”

  Captain Seenan himself escorted them past the police tape and into the condemned building. He’d conferred briefly with some colleagues in the Fire Department, inquired about what floor Catie lived on, and told them he could give them five minutes. Catie had nodded.

  “I don’t have that much stuff,” she said. Her voice had lost the brittle quality, and now it just seemed to come from far away. It made Jake’s heart ache.

  The building was as described. “Shithole” might even have been generous. Jake couldn’t tell if Catie was embarrassed; she seemed occupied elsewhere, thinking hard on something. He tried not to call attention to himself, but it made him irrationally angry to think of her living here.

  Three flights up the stairs, the elevator having been cordoned off, and Captain Seenan waited for them while Catie rummaged for her key. She had stopped to collect mail from a line of identical mailboxes in the lobby, and now the bundle of envelopes fell from where she’d been holding it under her arm. Jake reached down to get it for her, absurdly eager to be of aid in some stupid way, but Catie snatched the letters away, eyes wide and face white.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to…”

  “It’s fine.” She tucked the envelopes, facing towards her, back under her arm. “Sorry, I just…”

  “No, don’t apologize. It’s private.”

  For a moment, he wondered whether she’d invite him inside. In the end she didn’t, but she didn’t protest when he followed her in, either. She was distracted, and he thought again of what a shock this must be. He didn’t think she had any family in New York, didn’t know if she knew anyone else. The sight of her face when she’d admitted that she had no one to call if anything went wrong kept floating about in his mind, never far from the surface of his thoughts. Jake very much doubted she had anywhere to go. He knew where he wanted her to go, but convincing her seemed, at the moment, less than a sure thing.

  The apartment was well kept, clean, bright, stylish, even—whoever lived here made the most with what they had. There were lamps made out of old Bombay Gin bottles, a sp
ectacular fish tank, many colored lights. It made Jake smile.

  “I’ve got to call Danny,” Catie said. “Shit, he’s going to… I don’t know what he’s going to do. He’s out on tour for three months.”

  Jake made a mental note. He’d take care of it. But that wasn’t what concerned him now.

  “Catie, what are you going to do?”

  She avoided his gaze. “No idea.”

  Before he could say anything, she disappeared into a room and emerged with a duffel bag, already half-full. She moved about the small apartment with admirable efficiency, gathering belongings and clothing from improvised storage places. Mostly clothing, some books that she stuffed quickly into the bag. A notebook that she tried to hide from him.

  Jake could feel their five minutes ticking away.

  “Catie, I can arrange—”

  “God, you’re making this difficult!” she said.

  She had turned away from him. Jake walked around her and gently touched her elbow. It seemed strange that she wouldn’t look at him.

  “What are you talking about?” he said.

  “It’s complicated,” she said. “I just…I can’t keep doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  She waved her hand, as though she hadn’t heard him. As if she were just thinking out loud. “But it doesn’t matter, right? You don’t want to train me anymore, anyway.”

  He turned her towards him. “No. That’s not true.”

  When she finally looked up at him, he couldn’t tell if she believed him. Somewhere on the other side of the room, a phone began to ring. Catie didn’t move.

  “Catie, that is not true. I made a mistake. Many mistakes. But our arrangement is unchanged. It must be.”

  “Unless I leave Volare.”

  He wanted to shake her, shout at her. No. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. He felt nauseous, but eventually his mind caught up with his gut: it wasn’t just what he wanted, it was because of her notes, her thesis. There were reasons beyond the personal. Beyond what he’d promised.

  The phone continued to ring.