by Livia Grant
As if he could hear the conversation, Ethen’s smile broadened. He dropped a hand to pet his Kitty, sitting on the floor at his feet. Puppy was lying down under the table. Pony was sitting in a chair beside him, her hands on her knees. All of them were naked in their harnesses. All of them had pierced breasts hanging out and legs splayed, their shaved pussies turned so he could see them if he so desired. One of Black Light’s few High Protocol masters, his rules were his own and damn near indecipherable to everyone else, and Garreth hated him. He’d never hated anyone in his life. He was an EMT by profession, a volunteer firefighter who had worked first response for years. His job these days revolved around keeping even the riskiest play at Black Light as safe as possible, but he’d always been geared more toward helping people rather than beating men to death. Which was exactly what he wanted to do every time he looked at Ethen.
“Don’t do it,” Spencer said one last time.
It took real effort, but Garreth pasted that smile back on his face. He even tried to make himself believe it was genuine. “Everything’s golden tonight. There’s not going to be any problems. None whatsoever.”
Spencer grunted, then he looked up and his gaze locked on someone else. Across the room, Hadlee had just left the locker area. She was winding her way through the crowd both standing and sitting around the tables and, God, how his heart stumbled when Garreth saw her. She looked beautiful. But then, she always did. In preparation for tonight, her long, curling, chestnut-brown hair was pulled back in a functional ponytail and her little black negligee sparkled, catching the light as she moved closer to the stage. He wanted her so badly it hurt, but she never looked at him. She never looked at anyone these days, and all because of Ethen.
Had she seen him yet? If she had, she was trying not to let it bother her. Her head was high, her back stiff, her poise calm and controlled, but she was going to have to walk right past Ethen’s chair in order to reach the other party participants already gathered below Garreth at the bottom of the stairs to the stage. She was going to pass right within his easy reach.
Shit. Ethen must have seen him staring. Swiveling around, he followed Garreth’s gaze and now he was watching Hadlee too. She did her best to put as many people between them as possible when she passed his table, but already Ethen was on his feet and moving to block her path.
That mother fucker.
Garreth was moving before he could stop himself, side-stepping Spencer and jogging down the stage steps.
“Garreth,” Spencer called after him, but Garreth didn’t stop. He charged into the crowd, but already Ethen had Hadlee by the arm. Garreth quickened his step, but still Ethen had her shoved up against the outside wall of the medical area. Hadlee grabbed Ethen’s arm, but it wasn’t until Garreth saw her wince—either at her impact with the wall or the pinch of the other man’s grip—that he suddenly knew, while he might be geared more toward helping people, tonight, in about two seconds flat, he was going to break Ethen O’Dowell’s arm.
Chapter 2
“Where’s my collar?” Ethen pointedly demanded. He kept his voice soft in deference to other Black Light patrons he doubtless wanted to keep out of the conversation. Because what he was doing was wrong, Hadlee realized, and some part of him had to know that too. Not that it was stopping him. Just having him leaning this close to her, pinning her back up against the wall, made her knees shake to the point of buckling beneath her. He couldn’t help but see and feel how badly she was trembling. He probably took it as a sign of her lingering submission; she honestly couldn’t say that it wasn’t and tears of helpless fury at her own inability to shake out of his grip, spit in his face, and then turn and walk away, stung her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in front of him. She done enough of that kneeling in his wallow.
“You know exactly where your collar is.” Her voice was shaking as badly as her legs. She hated how scared she sounded. Refusing to give him that victory, she hiked her chin. “I left it in the mud the day I left you.”
“You don’t get to leave me.” His grip tightened painfully. “You are mine until I release you. In the mood I’m in right now, that’s not going to happen. Not for a long time and not without a lot of groveling on your—”
They both jumped when another hand joined the argument, clapping onto Ethen’s wrist. The sound of that grip was quiet thunder, and it rattled all the way through Hadlee on a wave of pure shock as Ethen was slammed, in a mockery of the same hold he’d captured her with, right up against the wall.
Unlike the rest of his menagerie, all of whom were model tall, model thin, model beautiful, living breathing air-brushed pictures straight out of GQ magazine, Hadlee was short. Everybody towered over her, especially Ethen who was six-foot if he was an inch. But Garreth was taller; funny how she’d never noticed that before. He was bigger too, broader in the shoulders, bulky in a muscular way compared to Ethen’s lean and wiry frame. For the first time in perhaps the whole of Ethen’s life, when he yanked, he did not get his way. And when he glared, he actually had to look up to meet the cool dark stare of Black Light’s scowling dungeon monitor.
“Let go,” Garreth growled, as soft as he was dangerous. And sexy. But sexy in the same distant, scary, afterthought sort of way in which Marion must have found Indiana Jones sexy while she was standing in a pit full of vipers while desperately waving a dying torch at all those encroaching snakes. Dangerous or not, sexy or not, Hadlee had far greater concerns than that flash of warmth that thumped once at the base of her clit and then quickly died away.
“You are interfering in a matter that does not concern you,” Ethen said, his minute shock fading beneath a mask of cooling anger. “We have a dynamic—”
“Not anymore.” Hadlee pulled at her imprisoned arm, but Ethen didn’t release her any more than Garreth released him. “Let go of me, Ethen.”
“You heard what she said and you heard what I just said.”
Hadlee didn’t see Garreth tighten his grip, but he must have. Ethen sucked a hissing breath and stiffened, his own grip tightening so painfully that Hadlee grabbed her wrist in turn.
“My next move is to break your thumb,” Garreth warned, just before they were interrupted again, this time by a man Hadlee didn’t recognize. He had to be a Black Light member, otherwise he wouldn’t be here. Not tonight, when play would be so tightly regulated and allowed only between contestants. Yet Hadlee didn’t know him. It wasn’t until he cocked a smile, taking hold of her arm and then Ethen’s, that Ethen weakened his grip and then grudgingly let her go.
“There you are,” the other man said, in a smiling, lilting Australian accent. “I’ve heard naught but good things about Black Light, but like any other dungeon, I’m fair sure non-consensual contact between members is strictly prohibited.” He pulled her away from the conflict, caressing the red mark Ethen’s grip had left on her arm. Hadlee’s breath caught at the unexpected tenderness. “You’ll be all right, luv,” he said, letting her go at last. Turning back to Ethen and Garreth, his grin broadened as he added, “Come on now, mates. Kiss and make up.”
They looked more apt to murder one another, but when Ethen shoved, Garreth let him go and they both backed from one another. Glaring from Aussie to dungeon monitor, at last Ethen turned back to her. “We’ll finish this talk later,” he promised.
“Lay hand on her or anyone else in this place again—” Garreth warned, but Ethen turned on him.
The mask on his anger slipped as he snapped, “I have a contracted dynamic—”
“I’ll wipe my ass with that contract,” Garreth snapped back, stepping in so close to Ethen that she doubted she could wedge a finger in between their chests. Although physically shorter than his opponent, from expression to physique, Ethen was easily the most intimidating of the three. “Any physical contact that violates the rules of consent will not be tolerated. She did not consent to being grabbed. Do not—” he snapped, getting right back into Ethen’s face when the shorter tried to retreat. “—lay hand on her again. Am I fu
cking clear?”
A flicker of swiftly banked fury lit the depths of his blue eyes before Ethen pulled his temper back under firm control. “As crystal,” he capitulated. “My apologies,” he told her, but with a stare that said she would find him anything but apologetic the next time he got her alone.
“Yeah, slink back to your table,” Garreth muttered, watching until Ethen had returned to his seat. His back was stiff as a broomstick and his fists were tightly clenched. Hadlee wasn’t sure he even realized he had matched each of Ethen’s retreating steps until he was standing like a wall between her and her ex-dom. That single thump of warmth pulsed inside her again, deep down in the base of her abdomen and between her tightening legs.
“And here I thought all the excitement tonight would be in the event,” the Aussie said with a chuckle, but Garreth turned on him next.
He checked his anger, pulling it in under tight control. That was one thing Hadlee had always liked about Garreth, he was always in such tight control of himself.
“Check your body contact, too,” Garreth warned. “I don’t want to evict you, especially for curtailing that bastard, but the rules apply to everyone. No unwanted physical touching allowed. If anyone needs to be physically checked, you let me do it.”
The Aussie held up his hands in easy-going surrender. “I’ll behave.” Looking at her, he tipped the brim of an imaginary hat.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He winked, and then he was gone, leaving her with Garreth while he joined the rest of the waiting contestants. Hands on lean hips, the dark-haired EMT took several deep breaths before he could bring himself to face her.
“I’m sorry,” she said automatically, and instantly some of that newly banked anger rekindled back to life inside him.
“Don’t.” He caught her arm in a much gentler version of the grip he’d used on Ethen. “You didn’t ask to be shoved into the wall. It’s not you that ought to be sorry.” He cradled her arm in his huge hands, lightly brushing his thumb across the finger marks that were already darkening to bruises.
Her skin tingled, but she knew better than to harbor the kind of feelings his touch kept trying to spark inside her. That single thump of warmth returned, only now it was a steady tempo, one that grew warmer and stronger with each tingling pass of his thumb. It took real effort to smother it. Feelings like that didn’t belong to girls without dignity; it made her wish he didn’t know about that part of her, or the night she’d left Ethen. She wished he didn’t know that she was Piggy-girl, who at a single disgusting command had knelt for hours, bawling in the mud. She really wished she hadn’t walked two hours that night, practically naked in nothing but her uniform harness, ears and tail because she’d been too scared by the potential consequences of her own disobedience to go back into Ethen’s house for her clothes, but even more scared to be caught out of uniform if Ethen found her walking on the road in those wee morning hours. She was really, really glad that that small-town payphone in the far corner of the abandoned gas station lot still worked and that no one had driven by to see her using it, but just as desperately she now wished she’d called anybody but Garreth, who had been in bed with somebody else at the time, and yet who had nevertheless driven all the way out into the middle of nowhere to collect her.
He’d drove her home with the heat blasting the whole way, no matter that it must have been stifling for him, because she couldn’t stop shaking. He’d helped her inside, straight into the shower, where he’d first tried to do the gentlemanly thing by leaving her in peace. But he must have heard it when she’d collapsed, sobbing in the bottom of the tub, because somewhere between that overwhelming devastation that left her rocking and bawling, he’d come back again. He’d never said a word, not a single empty ‘it’ll be okay’ or ‘you’re all right now’. Taking off his shoes, but otherwise fully dressed, he’d simply climbed into the tub behind her, folding his long-legs to either side so he could pull her back against his chest, press her head to his shoulder, and let her cry it out. It was the most decent thing anyone had every done for her. It was hard not to love a guy for being like that.
Not that she could tell him that. Guys like Garreth always had somebody waiting for them to come home. Pretty somebodies. Somebodies who had never been called anybody’s piggy.
Reluctantly, Hadlee pulled her hand from his, and Garreth let her go because he wasn’t Ethen. It probably never would have occurred to him to hold her against her will. “I should go.”
“Yeah, it’ll be starting soon.” Garreth turned away. “Better get up there.”
She wished he was one of the doms taking the Black Light challenge tonight. She would have given anything to have him draw her name. But Black Light employees weren’t allowed to sign-up and he was already pushing his way back through the crowd.
It was probably her imagination that made her think that set to his shoulders meant he was walking away mad. She caught her stomach, hugging in hard to keep from racing after him. And how ridiculous was that? He wasn’t her dom. It shouldn’t matter this much whether he was mad at her or not.
Ducking her head, Hadlee slipped into his wake to join the other submissives waiting near the stage for the event to begin.
He had no right to be pissed, and Garreth knew it. But knowing it was one thing, and being it was a completely different animal.
One of these days he was going to feed Ethen a five-course knuckle sandwich. It would probably get him fired, so he’d better enjoy it. Somehow, he didn’t think that was going to be a problem. Getting through tonight, however… now that was. He could feel it, that old familiar longing bubbling up under skin that always felt just a little too tight whenever he was around Hadlee. She was so small, so fragile… so damn wounded, which brought Garreth right back to wanting to punch Ethen again.
High protocol, his hairy ass; that man was nothing but a user and an abuser, and just as soon as Garreth could prove predatory behavior out of that bastard, it didn’t matter how much money he had or how good a lawyer he was, his membership would be revoked.
And it still wouldn’t matter, a little voice in his head whispered. Hadlee still wouldn’t be with him.
Fucking star-crossed whatever, he told himself fiercely. He was too big, too sensible and too damned old to be acting out some BDSM version of Romeo and Juliet. He took up his position in the shadows of the stage, ready to lend a steady hand for those going up and down the steps, especially those in heels. He had to get over this. He had to stop being angry. He had to do his best to keep his mind on his job when just feet away from him, his Hadlee was rubbing at the bruises on her arm and trying not to be afraid.
Stop it, he told himself, that old familiar itch of longing scratching between his shoulder blades. She wasn’t his and never would be. She was pretty enough, sweet enough, rich enough—she could have her pick of men anywhere she went. For whatever reason, she’d picked Ethen. His fault entirely, Garreth knew. If he’d moved a little quicker when she first started coming here, recognized a little sooner what a gem she was, he might have swooped in and made himself a proper contender for her submissive affections.
But no, Black Light employees, while not strictly forbidden from fraternizing with the paying guests, weren’t exactly encouraged to date them, either. Besides, Ethen had swooped in first and so Garreth had started dating someone else, so then he hadn’t been free. And now, they just sort of seemed to have fallen in on some kind of unhappy see-saw where whenever he tried getting a little closer, she either backed away or the timing just seemed… off.
This right here is why knights used to kidnap the women that took their fancy. To carry Hadlee off like the spoils of war seemed a helluva lot easier than this miserable cycle they were locked in right now.
Hadlee was going to make some lucky dominant one hell of a prize tonight. God, and he was going to have to watch that. Garreth didn’t know if he could, but time was an ever-onward marching bastard, disinclined to wait for him to get his shit together.
The next that Garreth knew, a submissive had passed out practically underneath him. Were he not so distracted, he would have been down there, making sure she was okay, but already the dom beside her had scooped her up. He’d carried her halfway to a recovery room before he’d even noticed and Chase was ascending the stage steps, grinning and waving to the crowd as he made his way to the mic to start the second annual Roulette event. Garreth braced himself, all the way through the opening spiel, the rundown of the rules, and the non-MF pairings, and then that surge of dominants as they each drew lots to determine who got to spin first. One of those men was going to land on Hadlee’s name. One of them was going to get to wield total power over her fragile, frightened, beautiful body all the way until the event closed at eleven.
And he was going to watch it happen. Worse, he was going to stand guard over her, preventing anyone else from interfering while that other man helped her learn to love submitting again, the way she had before Ethen got his hands on her. And who knew, maybe tonight under his watchful eye, just maybe she would relax enough for that first spark of new love to catch inside her—for some other guy—and Garreth would be right here, watching that happen too.
Shit.
The lights dimmed, and the dread took hold even as that old familiar thrum of excitement zipped through him. He loved this place. For all that his personal life felt mired in catastrophe right now, not at all where—or with whom—he wanted it to be, he truly did love it. He loved his job here too. There was a certain thrill to be had in hanging back in the shadows, studying the different techniques that other doms liked to use. Working here meant he didn’t have to pay to attend the parties, although he did end up working more than he got to play at.
He also didn’t have to pay to attend the instructional How-to classes that Black Light often hosted. They’d just had one, not two nights ago. The scuttlebutt around the pre-party meeting hall had been that it was almost by accident Jaxson found out Australian whip-maker, Noah Carver, was touring the across the U.S. Visiting any dungeon willing to host him (for a nominal fee, of course, and a bed for the night). There had been no shortage of submissives willing to bottom for his fire-flogging class. The stink had been enough to singe his nose hairs, but the guy seemed knowledgeable, skilled and more than friendly enough… right up until he’d pried Hadlee’s arm out of Ethen grip. Never in a million years would Garreth have thought himself the jealous sort, but that was exactly what he’d felt when he saw Hadlee’s arm in Noah’s hand while the Aussie whip-maker smiled into her eyes and caressed her wounded skin.