by Joey W. Hill
Her voice broke. His expression changed and she knew he was going to try to touch her, hold her. So she bolted again, but this time he didn't let her get past him. He caught her arm, held her as she rounded on him. When she tried to shove away, he turned her, put her back against him, wrapped both arms around her, her chest and waist, held her fast. She struggled, begged him to let her go, but he didn't. Just held her. When she started to claw at his arm, started to struggle in earnest because she didn't want to be trapped, didn't want to be held or stopped, he changed his hold, crossing her arms over her chest and holding her wrists at the base of her throat with his strong hands as she kicked out, lost her footing. He held her off the ground until she settled again, somewhat.
"Stop. Let me go."
"No. You're going to settle down now, because I've got you. I'm not going to let you run off, I'm not going to let you be alone with this. You're used to being able to push people away. I can't be pushed anywhere, darlin'." His fingers eased enough to stroke her crashing pulse, his thumb rubbing over her collarbones. "We're going to have that nice dinner and dessert I promised you. Then I'm going to take you to Lucas and Cassandra's place. I'll carry your bag to your room. Once we're there, I'm going to put you down on the bed and blister your ass with my belt because you need it. After that, I'm going to bury myself to the balls inside you, make you climax. Then I'm going to hold you until your tears run out and you sleep."
Her body was shaking harder with every word. He shifted her wrists to one big hand so he could spread the other out on her sternum, fingers sliding into the neckline of her Van Gogh T-shirt to stroke the upper curves of her breasts, tease the edge of lace on her bra cups. She knew he wasn't trying to arouse her. He was reminding her he was her Master. He wasn't going to let her run. Her stomach hurt a little less at the thought, even as counting on that frightened her.
"After you do all that, you'll leave me." She made it an accusation.
"No, I won't leave you. I'm going to curl up around you just like I did the other night, sleep with you and make sure you're all settled down. I'll get up early to go back to work, see what I can do to help catch this asshole who's after you. Then I'll be back Friday night. The marks I leave on your ass should be fading by then and you'll need a new set."
"I don't want to go back to the truck. Not there."
"I know. You don't have to. You can wait right here. I'll come back and get you. But I better find you here when I get back, or I'll spank your ass wherever I happen to catch up with you, no matter how many people are looking."
She must be hysterical, because her lips quivered in a near smile, despite his stern tone and her certainty he meant every word. "I think you might get written up for that, Sergeant Keller."
"Most of the guys I work with know you. They've probably wanted to paddle your ass more than once, though if they've had that urge, they'd better keep it to themselves." He sighed, kissed her temple, made a soothing noise when she let out a short sob.
"It's all right, darlin'. It's okay."
"I meant what I said. You shouldn't be with me. I shouldn't be with you. This isn't going to work."
"That decision's up to me."
"I have no say in it?"
"Nope. Not until I say. Understand?" He slid a hand under her jaw, and her breath caught as he pulled her face up, his grip firm. "I want to hear the words you said to me at your place. Don't you give me that weak-ass whisper this time."
She stared into his eyes. She wanted to look away, but he wouldn't let her. The words were like bullets burning in her chest, a pain she couldn't release, a pain that competed with the anger and--at least this once--overrode it.
"Yes, sir." It was still a whisper, but the tear that rolled out of her eye though she tried to stop it, seemed to make up for the lack of volume. He kissed the tear away, caressed her face. "Stay here."
"Can I..." She shifted her gaze away, because she was so unsure of herself like this. "I really need to walk, Leland. The road from here to the turnoff is about a mile. I'd like to walk that way, just clear my head. Just to feel like...I need to pull myself together. It's safe, just fields on either side. You saw it."
It was a trek she knew well, since as kids they'd walked that route to catch the school bus. He studied her, then nodded. "I'll go get the truck."
SS
Based on the pace she set as she moved away from him on that bumpy road, Leland calculated he had at least fifteen minutes before she reached the turnoff. As he went to get the truck, he used the time to take a few breaths himself. A lot of things were boiling inside him she didn't need to deal with.
He thought of his parents. He'd seen them fight, sure, but they'd also laughed together, cried together. They'd worked side by side to protect and care for their kids to the very best of their ability. It had taught him that whether parents lived in a big house or a small shack, the ones who loved their kids had the same hopes for and worries about them.
Looking at the trailer as it came back into view, he wondered that Celeste ever came back here at all, for any reason. Celeste's mother was on the porch, handing Don a beer and twisting the top off her own. When she noticed him, he could almost see her calculating whether or not Celeste's reaction had adversely impacted her plans with her latest cash cow.
She was a whore, plain and simple. He knew plenty of prostitutes. He didn't bear them ill will. He had pity for the ones who were strung-out junkies you couldn't trust. He'd developed a rapport with a few others who carried on with him when he did his drive-bys and checked on them to make sure they were okay. Not every cop felt as he did about it, but he had decided long ago they should legalize and regulate it. If that happened, then those he saw selling their bodies--women of all ages, and mostly young men barely out of boyhood--might be able to get the same basic protections that everyone from factory to office workers had. There'd still be problems, but they'd sure as hell be far safer than they were now.
Beyond that, those who chose to offer their bodies for money as a professional transaction would gain more respect, whereas someone like Celeste's mom would stand out as the piece of shit she was. Celeste might tease him about a cop seeing things in black-and-white, but he saw no reason to muddy water that was clear enough to him.
Don should have gone back inside. In Leland's current frame of mind, Don being where he could see him was an unwise move. Never forced me... Don't mess this up for me...
Leland stared at the trailer, thought about how poor he himself had grown up. He thought of his mother. She'd never made his dad feel as if there were any man in the world she wanted more than him, no matter how rich, educated or handsome. She hadn't seen his father as a means to an end, a personal trophy. They were partners, who'd promised to be there for each other throughout their lives, for better or worse.
Was there any wonder he wanted the same thing for himself so much? And how did he convince Celeste of that, or rather, help her understand it? The only example she'd had in her life was this. He'd suspected the reasons for why she acted like she did, but it didn't give him any pleasure to have it confirmed. Her history had taught her she was never more than a step away from being alone, that any pleasure or bond with another was temporary. His girl didn't want to face loss again. A simple problem to understand, not so simple to solve. But he knew refusing to let her go when they were at the pond had been the right tactic. He'd keep hanging onto her every time she felt like she had to bolt, until she figured out he was like a damn millstone around her neck.
"We'll be going now," he told Ginny. He kept his voice cool, even. Professional. She shifted uncomfortably, picking up on the tenor he used toward anyone thinking about making trouble in his general vicinity. That tone usually took care of it, if that person had any sense at all. He tried to detach himself from who they were to Celeste, to think of them as just another couple of troublemakers he encountered on his watch. Else he might burn the fucking place down with them in it, like trash in a metal barrel.
; He put the box in the car without saying anything. He felt Ginny watching him, considering options. He wasn't surprised when she wasn't smart enough to keep her mouth shut.
Ginny put on a bright face, glancing toward Don. "You tell Celeste she's welcome to come see her mama anytime."
Leland met her gaze. "I think you and I both know that's not true. But if I have anything to say about it, she won't be coming here again." His gaze shifted to Don, to the wheelchair that had deadened everything from the waist down. "The Lord does work in some pretty damn amazing ways, doesn't He?"
Ginny's features froze, showing panic then anger. She knew exactly what he was talking about. If it was possible, he found her more despicable than Don himself.
"Well, that's fine," she said abruptly, the mask falling away to show an aging woman who was pure ugly on the inside. "Just because Don has money, she shouldn't think she can come sniffing around here."
"Funny how often a thief always thinks someone is stealing from them."
When Ginny flushed beet red, gaze darting back to Don, Leland let out a short, harsh laugh.
"Honey, you don't need to pretend. He knows exactly why you've taken him back, and he's grateful because you're the only option he has now. He knew you were the fish that would bite. Best to keep it open and aboveboard. You're cut from the same cloth."
Shut up, he told himself. Just shut up and go. But he couldn't. "It will be up to Celeste if she ever wants to see you again, but you try to reach out to her, hurt her in any way, I'll be the brick wall in your way. Count on it."
His attention returned to Don, and the face he showed him now was all cop. "Whether your dick is dead or not, if you're anywhere near a girl under the age of consent for any reason, you're going to get nailed. Because I know that woman enough to know she's going to keep tabs on you. She wants nothing more than to forget you, but she'll put that aside to protect another little girl. That's the kind of person she is. I don't have to tell you how long a crip child molester will last in prison. Might as well hand those guys candy and call it Christmas."
As Leland reached for the driver's side door, he had the empty satisfaction of seeing Don whiten.
"Don never done anything to that girl she didn't want," Ginny said belligerently. "That's the honest truth. Celeste was a wild child. Always went her own way."
Given the emotions that surged up hot and hard in him, he wasn't surprised to see her whiten under his hard stare. "Good-bye, ma'am. Remember what I said. You step out of line, and you'll lose what little you got left here."
As he closed the door, he saw Ginny's face twist in a snarl, heard her shout a few typical things at him as he was backing away. He bared his teeth at her. "Yeah, that's original," he murmured. "Being called a nigger by a white trash whore. My feelings are hurt."
He caught up with Celeste pretty quickly. She was walking slower now, arms crossed, head down. As he bumped up behind her, his gaze covered the delicate line of her shoulders under the pretty shirt, the faint imprint of her bra strap, the way the jeans clung to her hips. Sometimes a man looked at his woman and felt lust stir from how she was put together. Other times, the exact same things could cause a stirring higher up, making it hard for him to find words for his feelings. He hadn't been bullshitting Don. Despite how desperately she'd want to distance herself from this, he already knew she'd force herself to keep checking up on them while Don was here--which would be until he and Ginny blew all his money. Celeste wouldn't let Don ruin the life of any other child if she thought she could stop it.
She thought so little of herself, and yet he could see so much. It was going to take time to change her opinion of herself, help her see what he saw, but he could at least help her with one thing. He had friends in the sheriff's department. He'd contact them, let them know about Don. They'd increase their patrols here, probably conduct a child safety session with the parents and kids in the park to remind the kids of the way adults were supposed to behave and teach the parents the warning signs. They could maintain enough of a presence that Don would know he was being watched. The sheriff's department could research his time in California, see if there'd been any complaints out there.
If Leland could put all that into motion, it would minimize what Celeste would have to do. It wouldn't add to the weight of what she already had to handle when dealing with her mother.
He pulled ahead of her, stopped the truck on the shoulder, got out and went around to open her door. She'd left her light jacket in the truck. From how her arms were crossed over her, he could tell she was cold. The air was humid, not cool, but there were other things that could make a woman cold. When she reached him, he put the coat around her shoulders. At first she stared at his chest, but then she looked up at him. She was tense as a board again under his hands, so he didn't draw her in for an embrace. He'd made his point earlier on that, but obviously her walk had stirred some of it back up. That was okay. It was a little over an hour to Lucas's place outside New Orleans. They'd work on getting her to a better place, not just geographically.
He lifted her into the truck the way he'd brought her out, pulled the seatbelt over her and fastened it. When he got back into the truck, he turned the heat on low and angled it toward her feet. She'd been shivering under his hands. He picked up one of her hands, cupped it between both of his, blew on her ice-cold fingers. She was watching him, still tense. She probably expected him to talk. To ask questions and expect something of her. Was it so unusual to her that someone would simply take care of her, watch over her needs more than she would do for herself?
She'd said she wasn't used to someone caring about her, so he guessed he had the answer to that question. Whereas caring for her was the only expectation and desire he had at the moment.
"Did you torch the place?" she asked.
"No, but I was sorely tempted. Did you want me to?"
She shook her head. As they began to trundle toward the turnoff, she looked out the window, tugged her hand out of his and tucked it inside the coat. "No," she said. "I dealt with the rage a long time ago. Now it just seems so pointless. Like being mad at the grass for being green."
Yet she had so much anger in her. He'd felt that volcano tempest within her plenty of times. He expected what she was saying was that expelling the rage didn't make her feel better, that it just filled her right back up again.
He remembered what she'd said. It was just the way it was. And that made his girl think she was broken past repair, unable to handle a relationship with him.
"You want anything to eat, darlin'? You didn't have any lunch."
She shook her head.
"Okay. I'll probably hit a drive-through." Once they reached the highway, it wasn't too long before he saw a fast-food place. He picked himself up a couple burgers and a large fry, and made sure the open bag was turned in her direction. He turned on a country station, hummed along as they covered the miles in companionable silence. Eventually the bag rustled, and he saw her take a couple fries out of it, chew and swallow. Take a few more. Then she borrowed some of his drink to sip. When he broke off half of the second burger he'd bought, she took it. As she bent her head over it, that gave him the opening he wanted to lay a hand on the back of her seat, then move it from there to stroke her hair. When she was finished with the sandwich, she ate one of Gilly's cookies and he took a couple for himself. Then she turned on her hip toward him, laying her cheek against the seat. She kept her eyes closed as he stroked her face, dropped his hand to her lap. Her hands curled around it, fingers tangling.
"When we're in session, and you're doing the Master thing, I'm a sub, it's not real. But it feels real enough. It helps. With everything."
"It is real, Celeste. I'm not playing a game and neither are you."
He lifted one of her hands to his mouth, kissed it. Her fingers tightened on his, held on, so he let her keep his hand, leaving it inside the loose knot of both of hers as he drove one-handed.
"I don't want to fall in love with you," she said.
<
br /> He glanced at her, startled. From the distant expression on her face, her closed eyes, it was possible she hadn't realized she'd said it aloud. The words hit him hard in the chest, but not as a rejection. When it came to her emotions, she tended to state things backward, so he translated it easily enough.
I'm falling in love with you, but I don't want to.
Chapter Twelve
She maintained her silence after that, but his favorite country station helped him finally rouse her. When they played some old-school Hank Williams, Jr., he sang along with a twang that had her rolling her eyes and begging for elevator music. From there he eased them into casual conversation. Nothing heavy; the passing scenery, his work, her work. While he didn't ask her anything that would pull her back into the nightmare they'd just left, he kept it open enough, if she did want to talk about it. She didn't. She asked him questions about himself instead, which left him wryly amused, since once again it showed their respective professions were more about seeking information than giving it. She looked thoughtful when he pointed that out.
"I always wonder if it's chicken or egg," she said. "Are people who become cops and reporters drawn to those jobs because it gives us an excuse to be the one holding the control?"
He considered it. "Maybe. But for a cop, over time it becomes less about your nature and more about the nature of the job, until they become one and the same. What we do, there's a lot of shit to it that we don't want to take home with us. Because it can take over everything and drive your family away."
"But if you don't figure out an outlet for it, it could poison everything anyway."
"Yeah. It's a bitch to figure out the balance. It's like when we take a life in the line of duty. We have to go on paid leave for the usual investigation, but counselors are made available to us. While it isn't required here, there are departments that make talking to a counselor mandatory. I won't say it on the record, but that might be for the best. A cop doesn't have to say he or she needs to talk to someone; they have to do it, so they save face but have a way to get it out of their system."