Young, Allyson - Broken [Running to Love 2] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Allyson Young

  “There are two properties that meet your requirements, Ms. Land,” he informed her with obvious glee. “We can go and view them right now if you’re able.”

  “No time like the present, er, Cal,” Tabitha answered.

  The first place was about an hour south of Portland, located on a couple of acres with forest and the smell of water nearby, but the house was dark and didn’t speak to Tabitha. She declined, disappointing Cal she was sure, but the agent drove her to the second property, silent for the most part. He was obviously more sensitive than his salesman attitude initially suggested, or he found her eccentric and didn’t know how to engage her. His take on artists probably included words like eccentric, hermit-like, and so forth. Tabitha was content with that idea if it kept people at bay.

  She found the second place very appealing. It was nearly two hours from Portland, and the small house sat on a slight knoll, the yard meadow-like with sweeping vistas on three sides of forest. There was a small village with post office, grocery-general store, and restaurant, announced Cal, a short drive away. He assured her of her privacy, especially if she posted the gate at the end of the long driveway. Inside, natural light flooded the empty rooms, especially one of the upstairs bedrooms, and while the bathroom appeared antiquated, the claw foot tub and handheld shower boasted significant water pressure. Cal believed the well to be dependable. The other bedroom was cozy and welcoming despite a dearth of closet space. The living area hosted a stone fireplace, complete with a recent inspection sticker, and the eat-in kitchen sported warmly painted cabinets and fairly new appliances, although there was no dishwasher. Tabitha thought she could manage the few dishes she would use. All in all, she thought it was perfect for one person. Concealing her interest, Tabitha accompanied Cal back to the office. She told him she might consider the property but would sleep on it. Cal perked up and offered to pull comparables for her, and they arranged to meet the following day.

  The motel room felt empty, and Tabitha found the television less than interesting as she surfed through the channels. Giving up, she began to make lists, organizing her thoughts and making plans. In occupying her brain, she sectioned off her feelings and memories, rebuilding the walls. She called Cal’s cell and told him she couldn’t meet with him the following day so would offer on the second property if he would meet her in the motel restaurant. Tabitha was taking back control. It felt somewhat familiar if not particularly palatable. Cal arrived promptly and presented her with the comparables, and she came up with an offer based upon immediate possession. He clearly felt it was low but agreed to present it to the sellers that evening and call her. The fact that it had stood empty made Tabitha feel that she would soon own it.

  The phone woke Tabitha from an uneasy nap. Cal had a fair counteroffer for her, and she accepted it, agreeing to have him fax it to the motel office for signature and return it in the same manner. By eleven o’clock that evening, Tabitha had purchased The Knoll with only the usual incidentals to be completed when she took possession in five days time.

  Tabitha took care of business and shopped incessantly for four days to outfit the house and herself, finding a moving company who agreed to have all her purchases delivered to them then transported to her house. She purchased a secondhand SUV with the assistance of Cal’s son-in-law and had a garage ensure its safety and readiness. She opened a bank account in Portland and applied for all the documentation she had left behind. She fell into bed each night too tired to think after checking her financial position on the computer in the motel lobby. Cal had assured her that she would be able to get wireless ’Net, and her last purchase before driving to clean the house and await the moving truck was a laptop and cell phone, signing a contract with a local provider. She had no one to call, no one to call her, but thought vaguely of emergencies, accepting that she wasn’t yet ready to totally cut herself off from the outside world.

  Unpacking and arranging furniture took nearly a week, for she paced herself, not knowing how she would occupy her brain when she finished. Tabitha decided to live with the house the way it was before making any changes, and was content with the comfortable furniture, kitchen items, and art supplies she had chosen. Even the linens and the additional articles of clothing picked for the Oregon climate began to calm her. The movers had commented on the lack of a television, but Tabitha serenely ignored them. Tabitha knew she would have to make her way to the village again and find someone to help her with any maintenance issues until she could learn to take care of them herself but trusted she could wait a while for that. Picking up groceries and gassing up the SUV had exposed her to as much of small-town life as she could endure. The open, friendly attitude laced with blatant curiosity frightened her and shored up her resolve to keep to herself until she believed no one would breach her defenses. In the meantime, she would draw and paint, allowing it to consume her and give as much comfort as she thought she might take.

  Chapter Ten

  Six months later, Kyle entered his house and stood for a moment listening to the silence. There were still times when he thought he saw her beautiful naked form kneeling on the flagstones upon his entry, the love shining out of her eyes. He had given up that morning Tabi had left the hotel and vanished. At first, he hadn’t tried to look for her, convincing himself that he was doing the right thing. He’d thrown himself into his various business ventures and even gone back to the club within several weeks. While he no longer brought women home to train them and make videos, as he couldn’t sully Tabitha’s memory that way, he helped other Doms, teaching and encouraging them. Touching the women left him cold, and fucking any of them simply didn’t happen. He had carried her broken collar in his pocket for weeks before taking it to a jeweller for repair.

  They had caught the culprit responsible for the computer breaches with the assistance of a brilliant reformed hacker, and Kyle had been furious to discover that a virus had been inserted into the club computer and, thus, infiltrated both his and Andrew’s during file transfers. Even Kyle’s deleted files were hijacked and appeared randomly in other venues. There had been several near misses involving breaches of confidentiality and file sharing, but the asshole had tried blackmail, and the FBI then took an interest. After a harrowing three months, the investigation was complete and a trial date set. The judge was expected to post a publicity ban, and Kyle had pushed that issue to the back burner.

  The asshole was a disgruntled wannabe Dom, a kid really, who thought the lifestyle was about doing whatever he wanted to women, getting his rocks off and giving nothing back. Kyle and Andrew had escorted him off the premises one night when a sub had pressed the panic button. They’d reviewed the tapes of all his other encounters and had seen his behavior escalating. Richard Pratt was his name, and he was furious at being ejected and banned from Unleashed, not to mention the fact that all the other clubs had been advised of his antics. Andrew could only think that Pratt had gotten into his computer when he had been left to cool his heels in the office while Kyle had been called to make the ejection unanimous. Who knew that the little prick’s revenge would have been so lethal?

  Kyle’s friends and connections asked after Tabitha without fail and Kyle dodged their questions. Andrew finally cornered him one night at the club, and Kyle confessed that he had let her go.

  “Are you nuts, man?” Andrew’s tone was incredulous. “After finding your One, you just let her go?”

  Kyle shrugged and tried to avoid further conversation but Andrew wasn’t finished.

  “You look like shit, you clearly aren’t taking care of yourself. You’re working every day of the week and not taking time to play!”

  Kyle recognized that his interest in life was minimal and rote, and that he wasn’t getting any better. He actually made an appointment to see a therapist, cancelling it at the last minute. Finally, he called Devon and asked if he could talk with them and Alexandra. Devon was cautious, as Alexandra had given birth to their son just five months previous, but agreed that Kyle could come over the
following evening.

  That night was one of the most harrowing times of his life, filled with painful revelations. While Alex was not at all like Tabitha, their upbringing reflected the lack of nurture both had endured. Alex had thought she’d miraculously found a future, only to have it torn from her by dint of manipulation and lack of communication, further complicated by masculine pride and ego. The fact that Devon and Jeff had been able to bring her back into their lives was another miracle, one that neither took lightly to the extent that they had relinquished all ties to BDSM clubs and much of the lifestyle. Kyle understood that in surrendering to him, Tabitha had taken a chance few people with her history would ever have taken even given several lifetimes, and was further humbled by it.

  Alexandra had looked at him out of her silvery-gray eyes, skewering him with a glance. She had held her child protectively, and Kyle knew that he wouldn’t like what she had to say. “Your Tabitha took the biggest chance in her life with you, Kyle. I know. I did the same thing with my men, and if she is anything like me, she won’t be doing very well without you. She’ll be a shadow of herself. You need to find her.”

  So he found a trauma therapist and consulted with her on several occasions. Nothing he learned was a real surprise to him, but he came to accept that in order to deal with what she naturally perceived was the ultimate breach of trust, Tabitha would have regressed to the person she was prior to being with him, and that her defenses would be reinforced and even more indefatigable. There was no way for someone with Tabitha’s history to interpret the training video other than believing Kyle’s feelings for her were in no way different than how he felt about any other submissive, especially when Kyle had never professed his love for her. This had reduced her to nothing when she had come to believe that she actually meant something to someone. Kyle had been correct in wondering that if he had forced her with punishment and pleasure that night in the hotel, she could have broken along irreparable lines. The therapist was not hopeful that she had not already done so. Kyle was far more concerned by the therapist’s contention that, while Tabi’s defenses would be well constructed simply in order to survive, there was a very real chance that someone could shatter them, just as Kyle feared, a predator who could sense the ultimate victim to despoil forever. Kyle knew how many such people were out there in the world and made the decision to find her and somehow fix things.

  The private investigator Kyle hired had called that morning to say he believed he had found Tabi, although the woman didn’t really sound like Tabi and had a different name. And this woman lived in Oregon. Still, the house was in the name of Tabitha Land, so perhaps she was renting to someone who could point Kyle in the right direction. The PI hadn’t been able to interview the woman, held off by the two large dogs guarding the property, but had photos of her in the yard and on the porch to share.

  Kyle stared at the pictures attached to an email from the PI. It was his beautiful Tabitha. Her ebony hair was pulled back in a braid, small wisps escaping the stricture to curl about her face. Kyle saw fine strands of silver streak back from her temples, and he frowned. Tabi wasn’t yet thirty. It was as if her hair had aged overnight. He could make out the ice blue of her eyes above the slash of her cheekbones, and his glance lingered on the full paleness of her mouth. She stood on the porch of a small frame house, staring off slightly to the left of the photographer, clearly unaware of being watched. A light cotton sundress, spotted with what looked like paint spatters, fell over her frame, full breasts evident, but the rest of her body was painfully thin. Kyle instinctively knew Tabi wasn’t remembering to eat, that she had probably gotten getting lost in her painting, something she had enjoyed in moderation while with him. He had carefully encouraged but monitored her hobby, just as he monitored the rest of her life. But that life was again out of balance, and he thought maybe he might have found her just in time.

  Another attached file profiled the beautiful setting Tara Larson’s home occupied. Why Tabi changed her name wasn’t clear. He doubted she had done it to hide from him because she had to know tracing her through public documents would be easy for someone with his resources. He zoomed in on two figures descending the meadow and saw two huge dogs, nondescript breeds, but likely the ones keeping people off the property. Kyle loved animals and wondered why he and Tabi had never gotten a pet, something for her to have as company when he had to be away from her even for such short periods of time. He wondered if he had ever truly totally accepted that he wanted Tabitha to be in his life forever until she had run from him, and getting a pet might have made his commitment more real. He never told her he loved her. That thought kept haunting him and making him question ulterior motives.

  Kyle booked a flight to Portland for the next day, arranging for an SUV at the airport, then went to his bedroom and began to pack. He had no plan, packed none of the tools of his trade, just decided to present himself to Tabi and fix things. He was optimistic and confident, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his head that suggested he wouldn’t be enough.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tara Larson lay beneath the pumping figure of Roger Bend and thought about where she might walk to paint tomorrow. She believed that in the time she had left, she would never run out of places on her property to explore and try to capture the illusive object her watercolors hinted at and her oils fairly screamed about. Roger bucked to completion and collapsed on top of her before rolling off.

  He pulled off the condom and said, “Well, now, precious, you needed that, I can tell. Next time you come into town, I’ll maybe have you meet my cousin. I know you suck as good as you fuck.”

  Tara Larson murmured something and rolled up to her feet, pulling her dress over her head and toeing into her shoes.

  “Not much for après sex, are you?” commented Roger. He got up and opened the door for her in grotesque courtesy, patting her buttocks as she passed. His office backed onto an alley surrounded by windowless walls, and thus, there was no fear of discovery by Roger’s tyrant of a wife. It served Tara Larson’s purpose to keep his use of her under wraps as well. For the time being.

  Tara Larson continued to the grocery store where she picked up the items on her list, adding more cat food. She had hauled all the females to Portland and had them spayed and given their shots before bringing them back home the same day. There were no kittens, but the cats were either eating more or additional ones had wandered in. She was running out of creative names. That trip to Portland had been a long, onerous day, but she couldn’t leave her home overnight. It was her sanctuary, and her biweekly trip into the village was normally as much as she cared to undertake. The folks in the store treated her politely, if distantly, and she responded in kind, yet there were none of the pleasant weather-type comments and such she heard them sharing with the other shoppers. The curiosity had probably not dissipated, but they respected her boundaries. She had already forgotten Roger Bend and his cousin. He was just another chore to attend to when she came to town until she had mastered the pistol she had finally obtained all the necessary permits for. If Roger came on her property to fuck her and threatened to shoot her dogs again or harm any of the injured or orphaned animals she cared for, she would kill him. She had already spoken with the state police and had made certain the grounds were laid for a self-defense eventuality. It was doubtful that he had told anyone of what he was doing to her as blackmail to keep her animals safe, and equally doubtful he really had a cousin to introduce her to. People knew Roger Bend, and she had no doubt that they would view him as the villain and her the innocent. It never occurred to her to ask for their help. She would never ask for anyone’s help again. It destroyed a person when one took the proffered hand and then it ripped out one’s heart.

  Tara Larson drove up to her home after closing the gate at the end of the lane. Murphy and Law cavorted alongside the vehicle, and a number of cats in a myriad of colors poured around the side of the house across the porch. She knew them all, their personalities and their stories, had name
d each and every one. The fox with the broken foreleg gazed out at her from the kennel tucked under the shade of the jasmine vine, relaxed and unworried, and the fawn curled up on the doormat bleated in hunger. She had a variety of birds in various sized cages, all in different stages of recovery. She never kept a wild animal once it was healed, but sometimes they visited. Renaud the fox was in a kennel so the dogs wouldn’t play too hard with him while she was away, and the door wasn’t even shut tightly. He had accepted the safety of the roomy crate when she had offered it to him. The fawn had probably run the property line with the dogs, and she hoped its mother would come back sooner than later before it totally bonded to her. The cats regarded Murphy and Law as protectors, and the minor squabbles among her guests invariably settled the moment she came into sight. Tara Larson was nearly fully engaged in her revised reality. When she died, she would hope that the domestic creatures would survive under the terms of her will or have passed on before her. The latter was unlikely given the state of her heart. She knew it was in fragments and didn’t know how it continued to power her body.

  After unloading the groceries and feeding the rest of the menagerie, Tara Larson pulled the fawn onto her lap while she sat in the rocker near the front door. She pushed the long nipple attached to the soda bottle into its mouth and contentedly watched it suckle a full half litre of formula before it dozed off in her arms. Tara Larson closed her eyes and rocked, ignoring the soreness between her legs and the unceasing pain in her heart.

  * * * *

  Kyle found the wandering road to Knoll House after inquiring at the post office. The bird-like woman behind the counter had been quite willing to oblige.