by Trent Evans
But with time, and the realization that in its own twisted, fucked-up way, it was the greatest gift my father had ever given me.
“I had no choice, really,” Dad said, sadness in his deep voice. “It was my last chance — our last chance — to avoid… this.”
“What is this?”
Dad met my gaze, a resignation — and a cold determination — in their depths. “This… is the potential dissolution of the Trust. In the many decades of its existence, we’ve always held it together. Playing opposing human emotions against one another. Lust and love, selfishness and selflessness.” He frowned then, and a chill coursed down my spine. “Good and evil.”
“You’ve had challenges before.” Even in my short time since coming of age in the organization, there had been threats, largely from government agencies, the press. People who didn’t understand the contradictory, shadowy reality necessary to allow an organization like The Trust to operate. I knew I didn’t understand all of it.
But I was learning fast.
“We’ve had challenges — and we still do.” Dad shook his head and looked down with a scowl. “The fucking Russians are a constant headache. And don’t even get me started on the Feds. But even those, with care — they’re manageable. But this?”
“He’s not going to let this drop, is he?” I knew the answer before my father shook his head.
“Grayson Corddray controls just over fifty percent of the industrial assets of the entire Trust — and with it, he’s gained a lot of very powerful friends. Difficult friends. In a lot of ways, he’s — what do you little young shits call it? Old school. He knows how to leverage power — and he knows how to call in favors when he needs them. And he has a shitload of favors he can call in.”
“I… what does this mean for us though? For the Trust?”
His voice was little more than a whisper. “Civil war.”
Dad didn’t say anything further for a long while, instead pacing the dock in silence while I let the stunning words sink in. Even I knew that there were numerous hidden — and not so hidden — alliances within something as large as The Dominion Trust.
And that meant they’d likely align into factions.
The terrible meaning of the words hung in the air, the crisp autumn afternoon suddenly feeling as cold as the darkest winter night.
Then he stopped, spinning smoothly on his heel, pointing at me. The stony serenity I always saw in his expression was back. It was a comfort, even as I knew it was a mask. We both knew dark days were ahead.
And soon.
Dad took his seat again, sighing as he wrapped his coat tighter about him, taking up his book. He held it before him again, not looking from the text as he spoke. “You didn’t come all the way out here to ask me about that though, did you?”
My mouth was suddenly dry. I hadn’t really known why I’d made my way out here. Or more to the point, I hadn’t know what it was I sought. I still didn’t. So, I went on instinct.
“Dad, I want to help you — whatever happens. I will help you.” I blew out a long breath, trying to ignore the feeling of desperation welling up within me. I feared he wouldn’t understand. “But right now… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m hurting, and I’m empty, and I’m… I need something. And I don’t know what it is.”
My father closed his book, his thumb tapping the glossy cover as he watched me, silent, still.
“I don’t know what it is… but I know who might. The problem is that I don’t know how to find her. I don’t even know where she lives.”
Dad winced, his gaze sliding away. “I was afraid of this. She’s… I don’t think you understand who she is. What she is.”
My heart pounded then as I waited for him. Waited for him to crush the last glimmer of hope I still held on to. Waited for him to close the door on my last chance to make of myself something I could be proud of.
For the first time in my pathetic, wasted life.
Finally, he looked at me, his words reflecting the weariness I saw in his eyes. “I don’t suppose there’s anything I can say to talk you out of this, is there?”
I smiled then. “Not a fucking thing, Dad.”
Chapter 35
Even though her truck was a full-size BMW X5, she still wasn’t sure she’d be able to fit everything in back. The leaves curled and tumbled about on her driveway, the trees leaning in the cold breeze, oranges, yellows, and brilliant reds drifting through the air.
Her trip was distraction more than anything. It had actually been Darynn’s idea. A vacation might do. She wasn’t even sure where she might end up, but at that point it didn’t matter.
“Anywhere but here,” she muttered, grunting as she pushed hard to jam the last suitcase into the slim remaining space in the SUV’s cargo area.
It was so unlike her. She prided herself on never being rattled, always keeping control. Maintaining frame. But now? Now, she couldn’t even control her own thoughts.
If she could, they wouldn’t constantly lead back to the same subject.
The man she’d let go. The heart that could never let go of her slave.
“Fuck,” she hissed, bent over, her hands on the back bumper. The black pea coat she’d chosen was excellent at sheltering her from the icy wind, but it was doing nothing to thaw the cold despair threatening to overwhelm her.
Turning and sitting on that same bumper, the metal cold against her ass, even through her snug jeans, she looked at her phone. It had become habit, something she did constantly throughout her day.
You didn’t give him your number. He doesn’t even know where you live. You’re being an idiot.
Idiot. It was the same thought ringing in her head the moment she’d looked back at him at the club, the last time she’d set eyes on him. She didn’t want to think about how long ago that had been.
It hurt too much.
She’d done the right thing, yes, but it was the right moral thing. What did it mean if the right moral thing wasn’t the right thing for her heart?
That’s your clit talking. Ignore it.
Perhaps it was. Maybe this was just a sexually frustrated Domme who’d excised herself from the community, starving for the one thing that made her feel complete, the one experience that gave her peace.
She had done that for a reason though. Even touching another man, no matter how submissive, no matter how gorgeous, wasn’t enough. It felt… wrong.
The only man she wanted to touch was the man she’d pushed away.
You did it because you had to. Get the fuck over it and go on with your life.
Hadn’t those been Darynn’s exact words? It was probably the truth, no matter how much it killed her. How could doing right feel so wrong?
She stilled at the sound of crunching gravel. It had been a worry, that if someone wanted to make a move on her that they’d do it once she was outside. Vulnerable.
Reaching into the breast of her coat, she fingered the holster strapped to her side. Darynn had insisted on a sidearm for her now. Anna had argued how stupid it was, how her friend was overreacting.
But in the end, she’d assented to it, if only to get the ex-Marine to shut up about it.
The Glock 17 at her side was a comfort though. Especially now.
She straightened, her heart pounding. Turning slowly, she wrapped a hand tightly around the grip of the pistol, flicking loose the securing strap on the holster. They’d caught her out in the open, but there was no way they’d be taking her anywhere.
Not alive anyway.
A truck came over the rise from the last switchback that snaked up the hill from the main road. It was a cobalt blue Navigator, the windows tinted almost black. The low angle of the wan afternoon autumn sun cast a glare across the windshield, masking the identity of the driver.
A tiny part of her was sad the vehicle wasn’t Quinton’s.
Stop it, dipshit! This could be them!
The door opened and for a moment, she didn’t understand what she was seeing. It wasn’t the gaunt, tower
ing Grim Reaper figure of Brauer. It wasn’t the enraged, lethally powerful Grayson Corddray.
It’s him!
He’d changed so much since she’d last seen him. His hair was longer, borderline wild. Gone was the trendy, affected metrosexual stubble. In its place a full beard the same gorgeous shade as his dark hair. The only hint at the old him was the crisp white dress shirt, the wind plastering it tight to his side, the fitted black slacks, the gleaming leather of his shoes.
He was much too thin though, even more slender than he’d been during his imprisonment. His shoulders were still broad, but the muscles there were more slender now, wiry, where once they’d been bulky and rippling with power.
She stayed still as he slowly walked toward her, his gaze down.
Sheepishly, she took her hand off her weapon, silently giving thanks she hadn’t had to use it.
Giving thanks for something else too.
“Where’s the beamer?” The whipping wind made her voice sound thin. She cursed herself for the stupidity of the question.
Your slave shows up and you’re talking cars with him?
“Sold it. Couldn’t stand to even look at it anymore.” His voice was strong, deep, the same alluring timbre she remembered, the same one she heard in her fevered dreams.
The ones she tried to forget in the morning.
“Why are you here? How’d you know where I live?”
Darynn would never have told him. Neither would Ivy. Maybe she’d fucked up the blindfold she’d made him wear?
“I had to see you. But I… don’t know what I want to say.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, lifting his gaze to hers. “I… missed you.”
Every day.
She knew it would be stupid to say it. But the words were dying to leap forth from her lips.
“Everything about this is wrong. Everything about us… is wrong.”
“Tell me you don’t think of it. Of me.” He took a small step closer.
She took a step back to match it. “What I do or do not think about is none of your business.”
“She’s back.” He smiled then, taking another step. “I missed her too.”
Don’t do this, Anna.
But she took a step toward him this time. “You need to turn around and leave. For both of us.”
“All the way over here, I tried to figure out what I was going to say, what I should tell you. I never came up with an answer. Do you remember when you first brought me here? I hated you. Hated what you’d done to me. But now, I know that what you did… was the greatest gift you could ever have given me.”
“Quinton…” Her lips loved the sound of his name, even as she was still unused to saying it. She still thought of him by other names.
Then he took one last step, a breath away. “I don’t know what I am now, why I’m even here. Maybe I’m brainwashed. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe… I’m the one place on Earth I need to be.”
She looked up at him, gazing into those beautiful blue eyes. He smiled at her, and instantly she was back there again, in that interrogation room where she’d first met him so many months ago. In those eyes, she saw it once more.
The boy.
Him.
But something had changed. It had been the scared little boy she’d seen there, but it wasn’t fear she saw there anymore.
It was happiness.
He touched her cheek, and her eyes began to well as she leaned into his touch. Oh God, how she’d missed his touch. She’d missed so much.
“You broke me. You killed me. You found me.” He pulled something from his pocket, something metallic that caught the light.
It was a thick silver collar, dangling from the center of it, like a figure eight laid upon its side, an infinity symbol.
Her heart felt as if it might burst as held it up to her in his palm. “You saved me, Mistress.”
“You’re not right for this,” she whispered, the words her last gasp, her last attempt to hold back the truth, her defenses crumbling. “You’re not a submissive.”
He slowly shook his head. “No, I’m not. I don’t know what I am anymore. But I know one thing. There’s at least something I’m certain of.” His thumb caressed her lower lip. “I know I need to be here, with you. Right now. I know I’m nothing without you — and I don’t want to be anything without you.”
He kissed her then, and she was helpless against the strength of his arms as they pulled her close. His lips, soft and demanding, took hers — and she kissed him right back.
Finally, he pulled back, his eyes sparkling, her tears running down her cheeks. “There’s one more thing I know, Mistress. I know… that I’m falling in love with you.”
She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, elation flooding through her, a calmness, a stillness falling over her then. It was as if the final piece had fallen into place.
And the one thing she needed, she’d finally found.
“Get down on your knees.”
He did it, peering up at her, a tear slipping down his cheek.
“You’d better know what you’re doing, because you’re only getting one chance at this. You know what you’ll be to me. What I’ll expect. What I need you to be. If you do this… it’s only the beginning, boy.”
He grinned up at her, even as his face paled. Then he lowered his head, holding up the collar.
With shaking fingers and a pounding heart, she took it, fastening it around his neck.
As he met her eyes, his cheeks flushed.
“As always, you get a choice, Quinton. Maybe your last choice.”
“I choose you, Mistress.”
She bent close then, nuzzling the hair at his temple, caressing that strong jaw with her palm. “I take you, slave. And I love you too.”
Also By Trent Evans
Published by Shadow Moon Press
A Message of Love
What She’s Looking For
Captive, Mine
(with Natasha Knight)
Taking The Human
The Chronicles of Muurland Series:
The Fall of Lady Westwood
The Dominion Trust Series:
Becoming Theirs
Her Troika
Expecting Surrender
Quinton’s Crucible
The Spanked Wives Series:
Maintenance Night
The Spanked Wives Club
Falon’s Captivity
Published By Stormy Night Publications
The Doctor and The Naughty Girl
What The Doctor Ordered (Box set)
From The Author
Thank you for reading!
Authors — including this one — love to hear from their readers. If you enjoyed the story you just read, let him know — and please consider leaving a review with your preferred retailer.
If you hated the book, he’d love to know why so that (hopefully) he can make the next story better for you.
The author can be reached anytime via e-mail at [email protected].
Interested in writing, Trent’s random thoughts, or wondering what Trent’s up to? Visit Trent’s blog.
Social Media Links for Trent Evans:
Twitter
Facebook
Google+