by Shandi Boyes
Shian jerks her chin up at someone across the room. Two seconds after her nod, Lexi appears at my side. Her face is marked with hot, ugly tears, and her entire body is quaking. I realize how frighteningly cold I am when she gathers my blood-stained hands from my stomach to rest them in her lap.
“You silly, silly, girl. You should have locked yourself in the room with me,” Lexi chastises, her voice more a plea than an angry snarl. “Don’t ever do that to me again!”
Before I can reply, two first responders arrive at my side. One replaces Marcus’s hands with his own while the other searches for a vein in my arm. The mumbled request for an immediate blood transfusion sounds through my ears as the white spots dancing in front of my eyes double in size.
"Please be careful, she's pregnant with my baby," Marcus advises them, his eyes drifting between the first responders and me. "She’s due August 29th.”
I peer up at Marcus, blinking and confused. How could he know my due date? I haven't even been to the doctor’s yet, so I have no idea the date our baby is due. But he just blubbered it out like he is so in tune with my body, he knows precisely the moment we conceived.
I inwardly snort. He probably does.
My confused eyes drift to one of the first responders when he chuckles under his breath, "I guess we know what you were thankful for Thanksgiving weekend." He spiritly winks before jotting down the information Marcus handed him in my file.
Marcus glares at him, stunned by his cheerful demeanor. I also stare, but I’m not startled by his response. I know he’s attempting to ease the tension thickening the air by using his charismatic personality. I’m just glancing at him in bewilderment, wondering how he knew what Marcus and I were doing Thanksgiving weekend.
Noticing he has me baffled, he places down my file, then explains, “The 29th of August is exactly 40 weeks following Thanksgiving weekend. Obviously, someone gifted you something you’ll always be thankful for.”
My pulse skyrockets as my eyes snap back to Marcus. Not expecting my rushed movement, my woozy head cites an objection to my unannounced crusade. My eyes roll into the back of my head as I’m overcome by a severe bout of nausea. I feel like I’m floating, even though the rigidness of the tiled floor is digging into my aching back.
“Cleo, keep your eyes open, baby,” Marcus demands, his tone indicating the arrival of another savior at my side, this one more demanding than any before him. Master Chains has arrived.
I try to do as my Master requests. I try to instill the obedience our time in his playroom taught me. But no matter how hard I fight—no matter how much I beg for my body to listen to its Master—the blackness comes steamrolling in so hard and fast, I don't have a chance of stopping it.
As I’m swept away by a bright white cloud, my thoughts stray to my first sexual encounter with Marcus.
“You make me so reckless,” he said that morning. “You make me irresponsible and careless. I don’t know whether I should punish you for making me reckless or punish myself.”
When I told him I could handle any punishment he wanted to give, he said, “Be careful what you wish for, Cleo.”
No. . . he wouldn’t have purposely forgone protection, otherwise why did he deny our baby earlier tonight? He doesn’t want me so much he is willing to tie himself to me for eternity. Does he?
“Cleo, stay with me, baby,” Marcus demands, gently shaking my shoulders, dragging me back to the present. “Keep fighting. Fight for our baby, Cleo. Fight for us.”
I struggle against my heavy eyelids, wanting to peer into Marcus’s eyes so I can read the truth from his forthright gaze. But no matter how hard I fight, I can’t keep my eyes open.
“Our baby. You want our baby?” I murmur, my words barely audible as my veins are deprived of adequate oxygen.
“Yes. Always,” is the last thing I hear as I fall into unconsciousness, closely followed by,
"Move, she's flatlining!"
29
Marcus
What started out as a dream, turned into a nightmare.
I lift my burrowed head from my hands when the creak of a door sounds through my ears. I’m not Cleo’s family, but I refused to leave the waiting room for next of kin attached to the operating room she was wheeled into three hours ago. I keep my eyes locked on Jackson as he cautiously approaches Lexi and me, refusing to look at the amount of red blood covering his white scrubs. His face is as gaunt as mine and his eyes as glistening.
When he shakes his head to my silent question, a part of me dies. The hope, the optimism the world couldn't be so cruel to one person—it vanishes in an instant. I drop my head back into my hands, denying the vultures of the media to get one more picture of me with tears streaming down my face. Although Lexi's sobs drown out the incessant clicking of their long-range cameras, I know they’re still there.
People often believe that members of the BDSM lifestyle are sick, worthless people. This past few weeks, I've witnessed more unspeakable behavior than I've ever seen in my club. Not only did I see the woman I love lying lifeless on the floor, cradling the blood-soaked area our baby was nestled safely in mere hours earlier, I also saw vultures more concerned about getting an image worthy of the front-page news than letting the first responders do their job. The scum of the paparazzi would rather a woman and unborn baby die than miss out on the opportunity to harass me one more time. They'd rather watch a man fall to his knees and howl than offer him comfort. They are pathetic human beings, not me or anyone in my lifestyle.
Overwhelmed with anger I’ve been harboring for months, I stand from my chair before sending it hurdling across the room. Incapable of holding in the rage tearing my heart out of my chest, I do the same with the chair standing next to me. I did what he asked: I let her go so she’d be safe, yet he still hurt her.
If I knew weeks ago what I know now, I wouldn’t have been so goddamn stupid.
Upon arriving at Stephen's house to question him for the assault on Cleo, police stumbled onto a crime scene. Although a body wasn’t discovered in the vicinity, it was apparent it would only be a matter of time before one was found.
When police linked a connection between Stephen's murder and a series of death threats I had received for Cleo two days earlier, I panicked. After filling Lexi in on the investigation, she packed Cleo's belongings, and I shipped her off to Florida.
The initial plan was for me to stay with Cleo in my sub house in Ravenshoe, but I couldn’t do it. No matter how many times I fought my hands to turn left when we exited the airport hangar, I turned right. Cleo wasn’t my sub, and I wasn’t going to treat her as if she were. Don’t get me wrong, I did fill in a contract months ago; I wanted her to be my sub, but that was because I feared losing her more than anything.
I know BDSM; I don’t know relationships, so having a piece of paper guaranteeing Cleo was mine for a stipulated amount of time was almost everything I could have wished for. There was only one thing I wanted more—her.
When the local law enforcement office in Ravenshoe caught wind of Richard knowing Cleo’s location, they hatched a plan to catch him red-handed. It took the guarantee of Abel and his daughter, Regina, that they would keep Cleo safe for me to leave that morning. I thought seeing Cleo leave with Richard would be my worst day—it's nothing compared to how I am feeling now.
When Richard plunged to his death, the FBI assumed the death threats I’d been receiving for Cleo would cease. They did for the first week, but the morning of Anna’s arrival to fit Cleo for a dress to wear at the Serena Scott Fundraising Gala brought the arrival of new threats—these more gruesome than the first.
Her stalker was clever—generally one step ahead of the FBI with every move he made. Although stumped by his caliber of computer knowledge, the agents working the case believed the evidence was clear-cut. Richard's body was never found, so their focus remained on him and anyone associated with him—i.e. Andy.
I’ll admit, I overreacted the day Cleo walked to Links after dining with Dexter, but with my security team r
eceiving images of her entering and exiting Toloache within seconds of Serenity advising me of her arrival, panicked anger was my first emotion. The pictures didn’t contain a threat like the other correspondence I had received, but they still displayed Cleo was being watched.
The night of the gala was the first time I received a digital threat firsthand. Usually, they’d go through the servers at Chains, but that one came directly to my cell phone. That threat not only warned of ill-harm to Cleo, it also had a picture of her sitting at the bar where she lingered the first hour of her arrival. The threat gave statistics on how it would only take a few drops of poison to kill a woman of Cleo’s size, and that all I had to do to save her was walk away and never look back. Since that was something that seemed impossible for me to do, my security team launched into action.
As my men worked behind the scenes, Cartier moved Cleo to a safer location. Although the booths were in the far corner of the ballroom, Cleo was flanked by undercover FBI agents and members of my security team. She was safer that night than anyone else in the country.
When Keira called me to advise she had information on a man at her work harassing Cleo, I should have requested for her to give me the details over the phone. Unfortunately, I’ve always had a weak spot for Keira. Not because I want her to be my sub, but because of injuries she sustained in my club during my watch.
I created Chains so members of my community would have a safe, sane, and consensual place to play. My guarantee was voided the day Keira’s Dom failed to acknowledge her repeated use of her safe word. I still recall the look in her eyes when she stumbled into my office, draped in a blanket and crying. The horrified cloud in her eyes that night nearly haunted me as much as seeing Cleo’s face the night of her assault. They are two images added to many I’d give anything to forget.
Keira didn't extend any more information on the man threatening Cleo than I already knew. She advised of the exchange between Cleo and Richard months earlier and mentioned them meeting up in Florida. With her knowledge lacking, it soon became apparent Keira had staged a ruse to secure my utmost attention. Conscientious of her mental well-being, I endorsed caution while handling the matter.
Although shocked at discovering Keira was wearing a chain link pendant, upon further questioning, I believed her reasoning behind it. Still rattled by her exchange at Chains only weeks earlier, she believed wearing my trademark would ensure no other Dom would approach her. It's a logical action, but one I’d rather not explain to Cleo. I hated keeping Cleo in the dark, but the confidential indemnity I guarantee my clients ensured I was unable to update her on all the details regarding my exchange with Keira. Now I wish I wasn’t so damn stubborn.
Just as they had done throughout the night, my security team kept me updated via a transmitter device lodged in my ear. During my argument with Cleo in the computer facility room of the hotel, my security team received another credible threat. Although watching Cleo walk away from me with her face etched in devastation, it was my safest bet to ensure she'd leave the gala uninjured, as just like all the other threats the prior two weeks, this one was adamant Cleo would be safe as long as she wasn't with me.
The night I returned home and thought Cleo had left me. . .that was one of my hardest days. I don't know what you call the weird fluttering thing my heart does every time I'm with her—the one I've never experienced with anyone before her—but it was thumping to an entirely different beat that night. It’s pumping a similar rhythm now.
I’ll be upfront: when Cleo asked me to make love to her, I felt threatened. Not because I didn’t want her to know what she meant to me, but because I’d never done it before. My confidence exudes in a playroom environment. I know my strong points, and I exploit them during scenes, but making love was a whole new ball game for me. I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it, but it was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.
While Cleo was recovering from our night of lovemaking, Shian introduced me to an FBI profiler who specialized in the type of stalking Cleo had endured the past year. He discovered a distinct pattern with her stalker’s tendencies, proving this was something he had done before. On his advice, I left Cleo in New York while I pretended to return to Ravenshoe, hoping her stalker would believe we had separated.
Little did we know at the time, Cleo had arranged to meet her real stalker the day of my departure, and during their conversation, she exposed that our relationship was still going strong. So, as much as I believed my absence would diminish the threats to Cleo's life, her stalker's rage grew, angered by my attempts to defraud him.
Although I firmly believe in Chains and what it represents for members of the BDSM community, my reasoning behind selling it far outweighed my desire to keep it. With the FBI's investigation into Richard being the most in-depth Shian has conducted, several missing pieces of a puzzle started falling into place. Well, so it seemed at the time.
The Dom who assaulted Keira is believed to have been Richard. Although he used an alias to initially gain access to Chains, when his annual membership application wasn't endorsed by the party member who invited him, Chains' staff took extra precautions to ensure the safety of its party members.
Richard was the only Dom suitably matched to Keira the night she was allegedly assaulted. Their compatibility test scores were shockingly similar, making them ideal D/s candidates. Wanting to discover if my assumptions were accurate, I met with Keira for brunch the week of my separation from Cleo. Although Keira denied knowing the identity of her Dom due to being blindfolded, her eyelashes excessively fluttered when I showed her an image of Richard I’d found on the Chains servers.
But with Keira’s continued request for anonymity, and the lack of cameras in the playrooms, my assumptions were merely hearsay. Believing it was my decision to cut Richard from the Chains community months ago as the reason for Cleo’s death threats, selling Chains felt like the right thing to do at the time. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d kneel before I’d give up Cleo. I’ll give up everything I have before I’ll lose her.
Have you ever had an out of body experience? That's what it felt when I was standing in the playroom with Cleo while punishing her for kissing Dexter. I was there, but I wasn’t. I’ve struggled many times the past few months with aspiring to exert my power over Cleo, while also wanting to cherish her at the same time. I suffered the same torture that night.
I watched Cleo kiss another man, knowing it was the perfect ploy to lessen the severity of her stalker’s threats. But instead of embracing the opportunity, I let it eat me alive. I should have manned up. I should have absorbed my anger with the steel rod my father lodged in my back since the day I was born. I should have been a man. Instead, I acted like an idiot.
I never knew what blinded by love meant, but if I had known the identity of Cleo's stalker the night she kissed Dexter, and I had a weapon capable of issuing him the torment I went through, I would have killed him. I would have made him suffer as horrendously as I did. That's how much it cut me raw seeing Cleo kiss another man. I've traded subs. I've walked away from women kneeling at my feet, begging to be loved the instant the flare in their eyes told me they were getting too close. But never in all my life have I experienced the pain I felt seeing Cleo kiss another man.
I thought the kiss would be the ultimate proof to her stalker that Cleo and I were no longer together, but do you know what happened? The threats worsened—instantly. They were so horrific, even Jackson had a hard time stomaching them when he caught the quickest glimpse of one on my computer monitor when he was checking my hand. I struck Dexter hard—now I wish it were even harder—but my hand isn't broken. It merely presented the perfect opportunity for me to walk away from Cleo once and for all.
Going against the advice of my lawyer, I anonymously released my story to the public before organizing a press conference I knew would allow me to shame Cleo in front of millions. Cleo is a stubbornly beautiful opinionated woman I knew wouldn’t stand by and watch a person she cared about be sl
aughtered without first trying to intercept her attacker’s play. But instead of embracing Cleo’s determination, I used it against her.
I tore her heart out for the world to see, then I let her be ridiculed and called horrid names no one with a soul as beautiful as hers should ever be associated with. I gave her up to save her, yet it was my inability to fully let her go that has brought us here today.
I never went to Global Ten Media’s Christmas function with the intentions of doing what I did. When Cleo removed her collar, Shian needed another wireless tracker placed on her. Knowing where Cleo was at all times was our only chance of keeping her safe. I knew I could get close to Cleo. And I did. But my desire for her was even stronger than I could have anticipated. For just an hour, I wanted to believe I could save her from anything. I wanted to raise two fingers in the air and tell the world to get fucked. I wanted Cleo to be mine and only mine. Now, I ruined everything because I thought right would always triumph over wrong. I should have known better—my childhood shows that isn’t the case.
Deep down inside, I know I'm not entirely to blame for today's outcome. Dexter caught everyone by surprise. He disarmed Shian's usually guarded persona by giving her unlimited access to Global Ten's servers when she was investigating Stephen's assault of Cleo and Richard's stalking case. He befriended Brodie by hacking into the security servers at the hotel where the gala was held when Brodie believed he saw Richard in attendance. He even called in a possible sighting of Richard at Global Ten's function last night. He embedded himself in every aspect of Cleo's life by befriending those closest to her.
The only person he failed to woo was me.
I knew something wasn’t right with Dexter the moment I saw him enter the fundraising gala. He had his arm wrapped around Delilah a majority of the night, but his eyes never left Cleo. He watched her all night, often moving positions to ensure he could surveil her from afar. But he was clever, purchasing his drinks with cash, and familiarizing himself with the location of the security cameras around the ballroom.