“Let me pass.” The unfamiliar voice had an effect.
The shouting died away into silence.
Sally lifted her head.
A uniformed police officer stood in the doorway, confronting Frank. Her neighbors had retreated. “Sir, you need to—”
“Get the hell out of here,” Frank roared, brandishing a heavy iron lamp. “My girlfriend and I are just talking.”
He’s lying. Don’t go. Don’t leave me here. “No.” Her voice came out only a whisper.
The police officer held up his hand. “I’m sorry, sir, but you—”
“Fuck diplomacy.” Dan pushed past the cop and walked into the room. Frank swung the lamp like a baseball bat.
Dan blocked, grabbed the lamp, and used it to swing Frank at the two men who’d just walked in.
The darker one sidestepped.
The other—Vance—caught Frank, twisted gracefully, and slammed him face-first into the wall so violently that the pictures rattled. The lamp dropped to the floor with a nasty thud.
“Nice catch, Buchanan,” Dan said, pulling out a set of handcuffs.
Sally’s breathing faltered as she took in the miracle of a rescue.
Despite his position, his face pressed against the wall, Frank yelled. “Fuck you. She’s mine. Fucking cops.”
Chills swept across her body as she listened. As she tried to find some strength to move.
Galen stalked across the room toward her, his eyes black with fury.
Angry with her? She tried to roll over so she could sit up and gasped as daggers of pain stabbed through her hip, her shoulder…everywhere. She moaned.
“Hold on, Sally.” He went down on his knee. “Stay put while I see how bad you’re hurt.”
Too close. On her back, she couldn’t defend, couldn’t…do anything. “No.” She struggled wildly, trying to sit up.
“Ah.” His eyes softened. “Easy, pet. Let me help you.” Putting an arm behind her back, he raised her to a sitting position.
The moan that escaped her gritted teeth was humiliating. Gradually the sparkles blurring her vision cleared so she could make out Galen’s face.
“Why are you—” She tried to pull away. She hadn’t called him, had she? No, she didn’t have his number. Dan must have. But now Galen must think she was selfish. And he was so mad. “I’m sorry. I didn’t ask—”
“Shhh. I’m not upset with you, Sally.” He didn’t let go but closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath. The anger faded from his face.
She relaxed slightly, leaning back against the leg of the desk.
“Just sit still for a minute, so I can check how badly you’re hurt.” He used a corner of her pajamas to apply pressure to her cheek, holding her firmly when she tried to pull away. “Anything broken?”
Surely not. “No.”
“How about I take a look, sweetheart?” Vance knelt beside her. His intensely blue eyes were calm and so, so reassuring. He quickly ran his hands over her skull, then her neck and back. His gaze never left her face. He checked her shoulders and arms, not stopping at her flinches. “Right shoulder a little sore, but so far, so good.”
But his fingers on her stomach made her suck in a pained inhalation.
“Caught one in the gut, did you?”
“It’s getting better,” she said. And it was. She could draw in a real breath.
And had started to relax. Frank had stopped screaming. That helped. Having Galen and Vance beside her helped even more. Even if they were angry with her, they’d never let anyone hurt her. She knew that.
Vance pressed over her right hip, then her left—and she flinched, then had to endure more probing.
“Bruised—didn’t bust it, as far as I can tell.” Vance moved his hands down her legs.
At the blast of agony when he squeezed her left ankle, she barely smothered a scream.
“There too.” Vance traced around the area. “Starting to swell.”
“Did a number on her face,” Galen muttered. He lifted the corner of her pajama top to show Vance her cheek.
“Looks like the bleeding has stopped,” Vance said.
“Ayuh.”
“Ready to get off the floor, sweetie?” Without waiting for her answer, Vance simply picked her up.
The movement made her dizzy, and the pain overwhelmed her. Rather than protesting, she buried her face against his shoulder. His white T-shirt was well-worn and soft. Each breath brought her the clean scent of laundry detergent and a hint of his aftershave.
He carried her so easily, and his strength was even more reassuring than the presence of the police officer. After a few moments, she lifted her head.
Hands cuffed behind his back, Frank was talking—loudly—to Dan and the cop. “Yes, my name is Frank Borup. It’s right there on my driver’s license. No, I haven’t been arrested before.” He gave Dan a smile. “I’m sorry about overreacting. This is all a big misunderstanding.”
Could he charm his way out of this? She shuddered. Frank could be awfully convincing. Look how well he’d taken her in. She pulled herself together.
“No. There’s no misunderstanding,” she said in a loud voice. “He let himself into my apartment with a key he’d made without my knowledge.”
Dan’s eyes narrowed. He muttered to the other cop, “Make sure we get that from him.”
“He hit me and kicked me and broke…” Hearing her voice shake, she stopped. Vance’s arms around her tightened, lending her strength. She said firmly, “Arrest him. I’ll file charges.”
“Sally. You’re being foolish,” Frank said. “You—”
Dan jerked his head at the uniformed officer. “You know the drill. Get him out of sight and hearing.”
“Yes, sir.”
Yelling protests, Frank was escorted into the hallway.
“We need an ambulance for her?” Dan asked.
Sally’s voice came out a whine. “No. I’m fine.”
“I’ll have her checked out in the ER,” Vance said.
Dan nodded. “Make sure they know to document everything. I’ll send someone to get her statement.”
“Right.”
“But, I don’t want to go to the hospital.”
Vance looked down at her. “You can skip the ambulance, but not the emergency room. I want your ankle checked out, if nothing else.”
“What about afterward?” Dan asked.
After the ER, she’d come back here. Sally turned her head to look at the destruction of her cozy apartment, and tears blurred the sight of broken furniture, glass glittering in the carpet. No longer a refuge.
Not even safe. She’d have to pay the manager to change the locks—who knew how many copies Frank had made. She shuddered. What if they let him out and he came back here?
She could stay somewhere else. But her friends had duties, work, families, and taking her in would be a horrible imposition. And what if he followed her to their house?
No, she couldn’t take the risk that someone else would be hurt.
If only she had family she could call…but she didn’t. Misery slid into her heart like a knife of ice.
But she’d manage. She always had. After blinking the blur from her eyes, she lifted her chin. “I can manage. Don’t worry about it.”
THE LITTLE SUB was like a cornered feral kitten, Galen thought. Despite her trembling, she was still hissing and spitting defiance. Yet, her big eyes had such a lost look that he wanted to simply hold her and promise she’d never be hurt again.
“Shhh.” Galen couldn’t keep from touching her. As he brushed her hair from her face, the purpling bruise on her cheekbone was exposed. His gaze met Vance’s to find a similar fury. “You’re going to need someone to take care of you for day or two, pet.”
“I don’t—”
“You have two choices,” Vance told her. “After the ER, I’ll either drop you off at one of your friends, or you’ll stay at our house for the night.” He smiled down at her. “To sleep and recover only.”
“Pick one, pet,” Galen prompted. If she chose a friend, he’d call and give them a quick rundown.
Vance’s expression was as gentle as Galen had ever seen it. “Sally, you can trust us, you know.”
She looked at each of them. “You won’t…push…me?”
Galen wanted to hit something. They’d fucked up during that session. “No, baby girl. No pushing.”
She glanced at the doorway through which the perp had disappeared, and the shudder that shook her small body made Galen want to kill the bastard. But her nod of acceptance was one of the finest rewards Galen had ever received. Even if she’d fled from them before, there was still trust there.
Vance kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, sweetie.” He glanced at Galen. “You’ll wind up matters here?”
“Ayuh.” He’d kept an ear on the bullshit that the perp—Frank Borup—was spouting. Some damage control might be needed.
“You can put me down now,” Sally said to Vance.
So independent. She was trembling and holding Vance’s shirt with a death grip, and still demanding to stand on her own feet. By God, she was something.
Vance merely smiled—patient bastard that he was. “I’ll put you down in the car. Galen will lock up for you after everyone leaves.”
Her whispered thank you was heartbreaking.
Vance brushed his lips over her hair and carried her out.
As the uniform brought the Borup bastard back into the apartment, the neighbors crowded around the open door.
Considering the crew had been willing to take on the bulky asshole for Sally, Galen didn’t give a fuck if they got a thrill by listening in. With a sigh, he leaned against the wall. His knee ached like a son of a bitch. But he wanted to see this through.
In the midst of the destruction, the uniform was checking for prior arrests.
Seated at the small kitchenette table, Dan was taking the Borup bastard’s statement. The detective’s expression turned to granite.
Galen’s attention sharpened.
“Yeah, I know it looks bad. But hey, we were just playing a little rough.” Borup’s expression was so sincere that Galen thought he might puke. “My girlfriend likes that. Asks for it.”
Time to shut him up before he damaged the little sub’s reputation with her neighbors. This was Dan’s town and he had rules to follow, but Bastard Borup wasn’t connected to any of Galen’s cases. He strolled over to stand beside Dan.
Hands still cuffed, Borup was seated sideways on a kitchen chair. Good-looking enough, muscular, and a complete asshole. What had Sally been thinking?
“She’s my slave,” Borup protested. “She wants me to treat her like—”
Galen’s snort of disgust turned the man’s attention to him. “I’ve had a fair amount of women who like calling themselves a ‘slave’—especially since that Fifty Shades crap. Women are funny that way, and judges know that. There’s no law against wanting to serve someone.” Galen crossed his arms over his chest. “Unfortunately for you, there are laws against slavery. And even more laws against beating the crap out of someone if you’re drunk. Especially a girl half your size. Especially since she broke up with you”— what had Z said?—“over a month ago.”
“She didn’t—”
“You shithead, everyone in the building heard her kick you out,” a man called from the doorway.
“Yeah, because you were ‘too rough,’” a young woman added, using her fingers to put quote signs around the phrase.
Excellent. Galen grinned. “Good witnesses there.”
“Agreed.” Dan caught the uniformed policeman’s attention and jerked his head at the doorway. “Get their statements. Including if they know why Miss Hart dumped him.”
“Yes, sir,” the uniform said, obviously pleased.
“Who the fuck are you?” Borup rose to glower at Galen.
“FBI.” Galen showed his ID. “Working on human trafficking in the area. I’d like to hear more about how Ms. Hart was your slave.”
The man’s face turned a pasty white. “I didn’t—” He took a step back. “We were just playing, never like for real.”
“So you got drunk, came over, and beat her up.” Galen prompted. “Nothing to do with any Master/slave business?”
“No. I mean, that’s right.”
Dan turned his head and winked at Galen.
* * * *
After parking beside Galen’s black sports sedan, Vance jumped out of his truck and walked around to the passenger side. Good thing they’d driven separately to Dan’s house to watch the game. Even better that Dan had his dispatchers bribed to tell him if any problems occurred at the homes of the Shadowlands trainees. That altercation could have been an ugly mess otherwise.
He opened the door and scooped Sally into his arms. He’d held her before at the Shadowlands—tonight she seemed so much lighter. So fragile. She was wearing a fuzzy robe, and it felt as if he held a kitten.
She slapped his arm and wiggled. “Hey, I can walk. I’m not broken, remember?”
He snorted and then smiled. In many ways, spitfire submissives were even tougher than the Doms. “No, you’re certainly not broken.”
But, despite her protests, he carried the stubborn little sub into the house. Maybe she could walk, but he had a need to hold her. With reluctance, he settled her into Galen’s favorite spot—the recliner section of the sectional.
Carrying a pillow, Galen walked into the great room and over to Sally. “Feel better?”
Ignoring his question, she sat forward, holding her stomach. “What about Frank? The guy who talked to me in the ER said they’d arrest him. Will they? Or do I need to go there and—”
“Easy, pet. He’s all tucked away in jail.” He handed her a key. “This is the one he had, but I talked with the apartment manager. He’ll change the locks tomorrow.”
“Oh God, thank you.”
At Sally’s smile, Vance felt his chest tighten. It was the first time he’d seen her brighten all evening.
“No problem.” Galen frowned slightly. “Are you going to relax now?”
“Okay.” She leaned back on the recliner.
Good enough. She was in their home. It was a step in the right direction. He glanced at Galen. “The docs said no bones are broken. Ankle is sprained but not badly. Bruises will heal.”
Galen nodded.
“If you do cleanup, I’ll get her crutches, then make tea,” Vance said to Galen.
“That works.” Galen was already rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.
By the time Vance returned with a tray of tea, Galen had cleaned the remnants of blood off her face, propped her left leg on a pillow, and put a bag of frozen peas on her ankle.
Sitting on the sectional beside Sally, Galen glanced at the tray and cleared a space on the flat armrest. “Vance makes tea for anyone who’s upset.”
“Happened to be my mother’s remedy for anything that ailed us,” Vance said.
A shadow crossed Galen’s face. Mrs. Kouros was as cold a woman as walked the earth. Very doubtful that she’d ever made her son any home remedies. Or shown him much love.
Vance had been luckier. He set the tray down.
“You don’t need to wait on me,” Sally protested and struggled to get up.
“Stay put.” Galen gave her a level look with the order.
She stared at him, then sank back onto the couch.
“Take it easy for now, sweetheart.” Vance took her hand and rubbed his thumb over the back. Such little hands. He handed her the cup, then sat on the coffee table.
After blowing on the steaming liquid, she sipped, then huffed a little laugh. “I like chamomile tea too, but how many teaspoons of sugar did you dump in this?”
“Lots.” Nothing like getting the blood sugar up.
As if to verify his statement, after a few more sips, some pink returned to her face.
“All right, now. Let’s have a report on where you’re hurting.” Galen leaned a hip on the arm of the couch.
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“I’m fine.”
Galen grunted his annoyance. “Try again.”
“I—okay, fine. My head feels like someone is hitting it with a club, my stomach and hip hurt, and every time I move, a knife jabs into my ankle. All on the left side.” Her defiant glare faded into an adorably rueful smile. “Guess I didn’t do a very good job of defending myself.”
“You’re alive and moving—that’s good enough.” Galen frowned. “We don’t have much for painkillers.”
“I don’t want any—and that’s what I told the ER doc too.” She shook her head. “Being fuzzy-headed right now would bother me more than hurting.”
Because she’d be liable to start reliving the attack. Vance knew far too well how that felt. “I don’t like them either, especially after…situations.”
Without speaking, Galen disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned, he handed her a couple of ibuprofens. “They’ll help keep the swelling down without sedating you.”
As she choked them down, her eyes filled with tears.
Before Vance could move, Galen bent forward and tilted her chin up. “What’s wrong, pet? What can I do to help?”
She blinked hard, as if that would prevent them from seeing her distress. Fat chance.
“Sally?” Galen’s brows drew together.
“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”
“No,” Galen gritted out. “You are not fine.” He let her go and stalked across the room.
Christ, Galen.
But his friend didn’t react well to not being able to fix…everything. Especially if he cared. She’d learn that if she stuck around long enough.
“Sally.” Vance waited until her damp brown eyes lifted. “Only an idiot would lay out her emotions for just anyone to stomp on, but there are times you need to share how you feel. To be able to say, for example, ‘I’m unhappy because my boss yelled at me. I need a hug.’”
“I—”
“No, we won’t talk about this now. You’ve had a hell of a time.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. He’d damn well like to give her that hug. She needed one, but probably not from a man. Not right now.
He continued, “You think about it, sweetie. If you can’t share, you’ll deprive yourself of a lot of support as well as hurting your lovers’ feelings. Especially if they’re Doms. I like being able to help, you know.”
Masters of the Shadowlands 8 - If only Page 9