Restrain

by Shandi Boyes

  Once I’ve finished relaying the entire story, nearly an hour has passed on the clock and we’ve consumed two mugs of hot chocolate.

  Lexi slumps into her chair before raising her eyes to me. “Okay. First of all, I understand your confusion. Woah!” She waves her hands in front of her head like her brain is exploding. “Second, you're evil. It was only a few weeks ago you argued that being spanked wasn’t natural, then you go and do that. . .” She doesn’t need to express what her “that” is referring to. Her face shows the entire picture.

  “I didn’t tell you everything so you could judge me—”

  “I’m not judging you, Cleo. I’m in friggin’ awe. Kudos to you—seriously.”

  If I couldn’t see the honesty in her reply, I’d be tempted to recant her statement.

  “So what’s the look on your face about?” I query.

  I stand from my chair to place our dirty mugs in the sink. Lexi waits for me to turn around to face her before she says, “There are parts of your story that don’t make sense.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here, seeking answers,” I agree, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

  Lexi rises from her chair and paces to stand next to me. “But the person you should be seeking answers from isn’t here, Cleo. He is over a thousand miles away somewhere in Florida.”

  Even though I know whom she is referring to, I bounce my eyes between hers, pretending I don’t.

  “If you want your questions answered, you need to ask Chains,” she suggests, her tone revealing she wasn’t buying my attempts of acting clueless.

  “And how am I supposed to do that?” I hate that I’m acting so cowardly that I want my baby sister to pull me out of the quicksand trying to swallow me whole.

  “What did Daddy always say?” Lexi queries with her brow arched high.

  “Most conversations start with a hello,” we quote in sync.

  “I’d probably start there,” Lexi adds on, her tone more mature than her twenty-one years.

  I nod. “Good point. I’ll give it a go.”

  Lexi runs her hand down my arm before she exits the kitchen. Her girly giggle shrills through my ears not even ten seconds later.

  “Jackson Josiah Collard, we have guests,” Lexi chastises.

  Even from the kitchen, I’m not buying her scold. She needs to remove the absolute bliss from her voice if she wants anyone to believe her reprimand. Ignoring the mortified expression crossing Brodie’s face as he watches Jackson and Lexi play tonsil hockey, I gather my cell from my purse on the entranceway table and saunter into my room.

  The worries I held yesterday about being spoiled by the opulence of Marcus’s properties are proven unfounded when I pace into my childhood bedroom. Although it isn’t as grand as Marcus’s bedroom, it has much more sentimental value than money could buy. I’ve lived in this room my entire life. No price can be placed on that.

  After carefully closing my bedroom door so it doesn’t give out a squeak, I move to my bed to sit down. My brows furrow when I notice the stuffed rabbit I came home from the hospital with is sitting between the ruffled pillows on my bed. It's usually housed on the shelf above my desk.

  Placing my cell down, I lift Mr. Bunny from my bed, give him a quick squeeze, then put him back in his rightful spot. Just the smell of his mottled fur flashes images of my parents to the forefront of my mind, inciting tears to prick my eyes.

  I take a moment to settle my nerves before striding back to my phone and dialing Marcus’s number. He answers not even two seconds later.

  “Hey,” I greet him. My voice is confident, but it also gives a hint to the torrent of emotions pumping through me.

  “Hey, Cleo. Everything okay?” Marcus’s tone is laced with worry.

  I smile, loving that he detected my apprehension when I only spoke one little word.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little worried. I thought you were going to call me once you landed?” Since most of my statement is true, it comes out sounding honest.

  “Ah. Yeah. Umm. Our departure got pushed back.” My heartrate kicks up from the uneasiness in his reply. He usually exudes confidence by the bucket loads, so his skittish response is odd.

  “You’re still in New York?” I query, excitement echoed in my tone. This conversation will be ten times easier if I can do it in person, as more times than not, Marcus’s eyes relay more than his words ever could.

  “Ah. Yeah, but we’re flying out soon,” Marcus answers, his words flying out of his mouth in a flurry.

  Disappointment slashes through me. “Oh. . . that’s a bummer.” I roll my eyes. I sound like a fifth-grader.

  “Cleo, is this important? I could listen to your voice all day, but I’m a little busy right now,” Marcus discloses, his tone sharper than usual.

  “Oh, okay. Sorry,” I reply flimsily, muted into stupidity by his admission he likes listening to me talk. I’ve always thought my voice was a little nasally and high.

  I press my cell in close to my ear when I hear a female in the background greeting Marcus. Her voice is high and bouncy, the type you’d expect from someone in the twenty-one to thirty-year age bracket. I hear Marcus shush her before he muzzles the phone with his hand. Although they continue talking, I can’t understand any of their words. It probably doesn’t help that my hearing is affected by the rush of jealousy roaring through my body. Jealousy was never a horrid neurosis of mine. . .until Marcus came along.

  After what feels like an eternity, Marcus’s attention returns to me. “I have to go, Cleo. I’m sorry, baby. I’ll talk to you soon. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I’d like to articulate a better response but I’m left a little dumbfounded, but the chance to respond is lost when Marcus disconnects our call.

  I stare at my phone, blinking and confused. Our conversation went nothing like I had predicted. Before we officially met, Marcus and I communicated on the phone for hours every night, so to have our call ended in under a minute is truly shocking. His abrupt reply can only mean two things: he truly is busy, or he doesn’t want to talk to me. With how badly my stomach is twisting up I have a horrible feeling it's the latter.

  I jump, startled, when Lexi asks, “What did he say?”

  She has her shoulder propped up on my door. I stare at her with as much confusion as my call with Marcus created. . How did she get my door open without it creaking?

  Misreading the expression on my face as contempt, Lexi pushes off her feet and saunters into my room. “Did he give you any answers?”

  I shake my head. “I never got the chance to ask any. He hung up on me.”

  “He hung up on you?” She sounds as shocked as I feel. My mattress squeaks in protest when Lexi flops onto the overused springs. “So what are you going to do now?”

  I take a minute to consider a mature response. It's clearly a waste of a precious minute when I reply, “I’m going to yank my head out of the sandbox and start using the brain our parents hard-earned money went toward developing.”

  Lexi peers up at me as confused as ever.

  “Do you know where my box is?” When Lexi’s confusion grows, I add on, “The box I left Global Ten with? The one with all my work on Chains?”

  “Should be by the entranceway where you left it. I don’t touch your stuff.” I’m halfway down the hall before the entire sentence leaves Lexi’s mouth.

  My box is where she said it would be, tucked between our coatrack and our new entranceway table. Jackson and Brodie’s heads lift from the sports highlight program broadcasting on the TV so their eyes can track me dragging the heavy box into the formal dining room. Although the box isn’t overly heavy, with my muscles still weak with exhaustion, it feels like I’m dragging a Mack truck.

  Like a perfectly timed skit, Lexi enters the dining room at precisely the same time I’m struggling to lift the box onto our large oval table. “Jesus. What have you got in here?” she grunts while assisting me, realizing the strain crossing my face wasn’t fake.

  I flip o
ff the lid of the box, allowing the documents inside to answer on my behalf. Lexi’s eyes bug as they wander over the hundreds of pictures I printed out after my night at Chains.

  “Holy shit. You were right. Seeing it in the flesh doesn’t match what you imagine when you’re reading it.”

  She picks up the photos of a lady hanging from a steel-like contraption wearing nothing but rope for clothing. “That takes a lot of trust,” Lexi mumbles under her breath.

  “It does,” I agree wholeheartedly. “That's one of the biggest things in the BDSM world. Trust.”

  Lexi places the photo onto a bunch of ones displaying Marcus’s mask-covered face. “Then why are you re-opening your investigation into Chains? I know Marcus owes you some explanations, but investigating him? This doesn’t feel right, Cleo. It’s something I’d do, but this isn’t you. You bring the smarts; I bring the looks. You bring the understanding; I bring the suspicion. You bring the creep; I bring the—”

  “Leech,” we say in sync.

  The rigidness in the air evaporates when our conjoined laughter fills the room.

  I wait for her laughter to dim before saying, “I’m not investigating Marcus; I’m investigating Chains.”

  Lexi rolls her eyes. “They are one and the same, Cleo,” she fires back as a cloud of chaos overtakes the glint of happiness in her eyes.

  “Not Chains the person. Chains the company,” I inform her. I move my hand to the pocket of my jeans to dig out the photo I sneakily borrowed from Dexter on my brisk exit of the restaurant.

  Lexi inhales a sharp breath when I hand her the printout of Keira’s bruised back. “Are those whip marks?” Lexi runs her index finger along the welts in Keira’s back.

  I commence answering her question with a shrug. “I think so. The pattern is unusual, though. I’ve never come across that type of pattern during my research.”

  Lexi raises her panicked eyes to me. “Are her injuries typical for people in the BDSM lifestyle?”

  I quirk my lips while taking a moment to contemplate a response. I want to be honest with Lexi, but I don’t want her to panic either. “Depends. Some people need. . . more, where others need a lot more,” I eventually answer.

  When panic flares in Lexi’s eyes, I add on, “I researched the lifestyle for weeks, and from what I’ve seen, this seems extreme. But it never would have happened without the submissive’s permission. There are very strict rules to ensure nothing like this happens without prior consent. It may seem cruel, but some people need that type of stimulation to feel whole.”

  Lexi remains as quiet as a mouse. It's an uncomfortable three minutes filled with awkward tension.

  “Say what you want to say, Lexi. I’m a big girl; I can handle it,” I express, loathing the concerned look she is issuing me.

  Lexi’s tongue delves out to replenish her lips before she asks, “Do you need that much. . .more, Cleo?”

  Relief floods her eyes when I shake my head. “No. After last night, I’m beginning to wonder if my desires for more are based around the lifestyle or the man associated with it.”

  Lexi continues with her silent stance, forcing me to say, “Last night was the first time I climaxed without additional stimulation. That should mean something, shouldn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it should.” The color in her cheeks returns. “It means I want what you’re having.” She excessively waggles her brows.

  I inwardly sigh, grateful her playful response killed the tension hanging thickly in the air.

  After placing the photo of Keira into the box next to numerous surveillance images of Marcus, Lexi spreads her hands across her tiny hips. “Okay, let me check we’re on the same page?”

  She waits for me to nod before saying, “Her injuries happened at Chains?” She points her index finger at Keira’s photo. Although her eyes are showing her relief, I can tell she is still rattled, as her slim finger is incapable of hiding the tremor of her hands.

  I nod. “There is a match in timelines between a Chains party and her seeking medical assistance.”

  “And she is the reason Global Ten Media is investigating Chains?”

  “Yes. Well, I’m assuming that's the case. My intuition is warning me she is somehow involved, I just need to work out how.” I pull out a chair from the dining table and sit down.

  “Easy,” Lexi replies as if it's the simplest solution in the world. “She wants revenge on the Chains community for what happened to her, so she sold them out to Global Ten.”

  Lexi’s eyes drop to mine when I reply, “No. Although her assault seems to be the premise of the investigation, she didn’t initiate it.”

  “How do you know that?” Lexi questions, shock smeared in her tone.

  I swivel in my chair to face her. “She isn’t against the members of Chains; she is working in cahoots with them.”

  Lexi looks the most confused I’ve ever seen her.

  “Remember me telling you about Keira bombarding me in the elevator the morning I was called into Global Ten for an emergency meeting? How she pleaded for me to write my story on Chains based on facts, not a sugarcoated pop culture piece? She defended the BDSM lifestyle and the rights for its members to choose their own sexual proclivities.”

  Lexi crosses her arms over her chest as she nods, her interest unmissable.

  “That was her.” I point to the photo of Keira.

  Lexi gasps in a shocked breath as her pupils dilate to the size of saucers. “That doesn’t make any sense. The evidence clearly shows she was the reason the Chains investigation commenced, so why would she then defend them?”

  “That’s what I am endeavoring to find out. Keira is the link between Chains and Global Ten. If I can work out why, I might be able to work out how to end the investigation before Marcus or any of his clientele get caught in the crossfire.”

  My eyes track Lexi when she spins on her heels and makes a beeline for the door. “Where are you going?”

  She cranks her neck to peer at me over her shoulder, but her pace remains unchecked. “We need wine before we tackle this head on.”

  “We?” I retort, pretending I can’t read the excitement on her face.

  Lexi freezes halfway out the room, cocks her hip, then glares at me. “Yeah, we. Do you really think I’ll let you do this without backup? I’m your little sis. We Garcia women stick together through a crisis.”

  She strengthens her stance as the gleam of cheekiness in her eyes turns calamitous. “Besides, if you’re going to take down a billion-dollar company with those grainy images, you’ll need someone without shitty vision to help.”

  I glare at her with my mouth gaped open. “Then you better get your glasses,” I tease when she fails to acknowledge the threat in my glare.

  Lexi stares at me; her confidence at an all-time high. “I was planning to—right after the wine.”

  9

  “I never said that, Professor. I may think your breath smells like dog doo, but I’d never say it out loud.”

  Lexi springboards into a half-seated position when I throw a kernel of caramel-coated popcorn at her head. Is it wrong of me to admit I know who she is talking about even though I've never attended her college? Her physics professor is a lovely man, but my god, the times I served him at our local gas station during summer holidays my senior years of high school, were unpleasant enough for the memory to stick. I've always believed a scent is the quickest way to trigger a memory. That's one of the reasons I was so baffled about the mysterious stranger I bumped into yesterday. I swear I've smelled his scent before.

  My attention drifts back to the present when Lexi's bewildered eyes roam around the dining room. She has a massive gob of dried drool in the corner of her mouth, and the papers she was sleeping on have creased her cheek. Guilt makes itself comfy in the middle of my chest when I spot the dark rims circling her eyes. She looks exhausted, which is understandable considering it's 5 AM.

  "Did I fall asleep again?" Lexi queries, her words muffled by a tiger-like yawn.
<
br />   “Only for a few minutes,” I lie. She’s been out nearly two hours. “We should probably call it a night anyway. You’ve got your volunteer session at Links tomorrow before school.”

  “Today,” Lexi corrects, grimacing.

  “Sorry,” I apologize, hating that I’ve put her natural body clock out of whack.

  She waves off my worry. “It’s okay. I have exams the next two weeks.”

  Guilt slams into me.

  It doesn’t last long when Lexi quickly adds on, “But I don’t have any today. Thank god.”

  “Thank god, indeed.”

  Lexi gingerly stands from her chair to aid me in gathering the documents and photos we have sprawled across the table. Although we can confirm without a doubt that Keira is a member of Chains, we are not any closer to discovering the connection between her and Global Ten. This will make me sound like the most horrible person in the world, but I'm just being honest. I don't know what I find more concerning: the photos of Keira's bruised back, or the dozens upon dozens of images of her gawking at Marcus from the surveillance pictures gathered from my night at Chains. Although Keira was wearing a simple silver mask, her platinum blonde hair, small facial features, and prominent blue eyes guarantee her identity can't be hidden. She was in multiple shots, and as I had suspected, her eyes were always firmly rapt on Marcus, proving her fascination with him is more than just friendly.

  "Oh, hold on," Lexi says when her stack of papers tumble onto the mouse of the laptop, awakening its monitor. "Do you remember how we searched for Mr. Carson and Keira?"

  Nervous butterflies take flight in my stomach as I nod.

  I breathe out slowly when Lexi says, "We finally got a match."

  “What month is it? Around June/July?”

  Lexi shakes her head. “No. It was in September.”

  "Around the time the Chains investigation started?" I'm shocked as the first searches done were based on the prior six months, so why didn't it come up then?