Golden-mahogany hair spilled across the pale blue pillow case, eyes closed and normally light olive skin deathly white, Oriana was still one of the most beautiful women he’d ever known. He moved silently, hoping not to wake her. The lights were low, but he could still see the harsh bruises on the side of her head, with half a dozen stitches holding the torn flesh together.
He inhaled slowly, imagining how fucking scary it must have been for Max and Sloan to find her—probably unconscious and bleeding out on the floor. Max’s voice had broken when he’d mentioned that she hit her head on the side of the bathtub. And how he’d left the floor soaking wet.
Finding out what happened had brought back all kinds of messed-up emotions for Dominik. Mostly anger, but he couldn’t really blame anyone for the accident. And seeing Oriana, he couldn’t even be irritated at Sloan’s reaction.
If she were still mine, no one could have forced me out of this room.
Which, considering how pissed off Sloan must have been, it was surprising that only three cops were here. Sloan must be going soft.
Lips slanted in a wry smile, Dominik settled into the armchair by the bed. It creaked as he shifted and Oriana’s eyes shot open.
“I didn’t mean to wake you, sweetheart.” He leaned forward, catching himself before he could reach out and touch her. Her men would be back before long, and he needed to be here as a friend. One who didn’t touch her cheek and hold her as though he had every right to. Because he didn’t. Not anymore.
Which didn’t hurt as much as it once had. He wanted her happy and healthy. He still cared about her. But the loss was more of a distant ache than a fresh wound.
Oriana tried to lift her head and groaned. Then pressed her eyes shut and sighed. “I’m surprised that you’re here. Did Max call you?
“Yes.”
“He shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, it’s not fair of him to drag you into this.” She winced as she adjusted her head on the pillow. “Not that I don’t like seeing you, but you have your own life and—”
“He called because of Sloan.” Not that she’d be happy about that, but he didn’t want her feeling guilty about him being pulled away from living his own life. Dominik and Oriana had finally gotten to a good place. And they were damn well going to stay there. “I’m not sure how much you know about what happened. The social worker questioned you?”
She frowned, nodding slowly. “Yes. She asked if things were okay at home. If I was ever afraid and if there were a lot of arguments. I got dizzy and sick and she told me we could take as long as I needed, but I didn’t want to talk to her at all. She seemed satisfied when I told her neither Sloan nor Max have ever done anything to me that we hadn’t discussed first.”
“You do understand why they had to ask, though? There are women who…” His words trailed off as he remembered some of the bruises he’d seen on Sahara when she’d first joined the Cobras’ Ice Girls. Those hadn’t been marks made during consensual edgeplay.
Fuck, the look on her face when she’d asked if Sloan had hurt Oriana… He’d been too distracted to do more than tell her it wasn’t like that. And then they’d fought and he’d left her with the cab.
He had to call her. Apologize and somehow make things right.
She might not give him a chance, but he couldn’t blame her. She’d been through too much to deal with a man treating her as badly as he had.
You’re an idiot, Mason.
Oriana reached out and touched the back of his hand. “What is it?”
Well, they were friends, right? No reason not to tell her. He’d earned a few people telling him he’d fucked up. “I was on a date. The way I left—”
“With who? And before you beat yourself up, you said you came for Sloan. He’s the assistant coach and it’s the playoffs.” Her passion for the game came through nice and clear, no matter how much pain she was in. He couldn’t help but grin at the irritation on her face. “If this chick doesn’t understand that the game comes first, she’s not the right girl for you.”
“Easy, tiger.” Dominik laughed, turning his hand in hers to stroke her knuckles with his thumb. “She respects the game; I just wasn’t clear with her. She thinks I came for you.”
Biting her bottom lip, Oriana met his eyes. “But you didn’t.”
“No.” His brow furrowed and he cleared his throat, feeling strangely uncomfortable. “But I’m glad I came.”
She didn’t say anything. Her eyes were on something—someone behind him.
Sloan stepped up to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. “So am I.”
Chapter Five
Sahara was so relieved when she got home, she walked straight in and got to the kitchen before she realized something was off. Her door hadn’t been locked. And there was someone in her house.
The urge to scream lodged in her throat, and she froze when she saw Grant sitting at her kitchen table. When he stood, she knew she had to run. But her body ignored the command her mind was screaming. He came toward her, and she winced as he put his hand on her arm.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I swear, the door was unlocked when I got here.” His grip tightened when she finally calmed enough to try to pull away. “You have to listen to me. Sit down. We’ll figure out who did this.”
He pointed at the far wall. The window seat Scott had made her was in pieces, the wood chopped up like someone had taken an ax to it. But she didn’t see an ax. Or any weapons. Not that he needed them to hurt her, or worse. Grant didn’t want to kill her, did he?
This wouldn’t be the first time she had wondered that, but she wasn’t the scared girl who’d once stayed with him because she was too afraid to get away. Or because she let him convince her he was going to change.
“My friends are waiting for me. I have to go.” She twisted free and put some distance between them. She knew the exact amount of space she needed to avoid the swing of his fist. It was easier when he was drunk. Unfortunately, he seemed perfectly sober. She’d have to pick her words carefully. “I’ll file a report with the police. Thank you for watching the place for me.”
His eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, his jaw hardening when she skidded back. “You don’t believe me. You still think I’ll hurt you.”
“No, it’s not that, Grant. If I keep my friends waiting, they’ll come looking. And they won’t buy your story about—”
“My story? Are you fucking kidding me?” He brought his hand up and she cringed, but he simply raked his fingers through his hair. “I know you were out with Dominik Mason. And that you two argued. There are pictures online, and I’m not surprised that it didn’t work out. He’s not right for you. I came here to prove that you could count on me to be your friend. Like we talked about.”
Okay, she wasn’t sure he was listening to himself. Even if there were pictures of her and Dominik, how would he have seen them unless he was checking up on her? A phone call would have been reasonable. Showing up at her home…?
But pointing that out would piss him off. So she forced a smile and nodded. “That was thoughtful of you. I appreciate it. Maybe we can talk tomorrow?”
“Because your ‘friends’ are waiting? Don’t lie to me. I saw you pull up in a cab. And get out alone.” He reached for her again, then slammed his fist into his thigh when she shifted again. “Stop being such a fucking drama queen. Did you mean a word you said about us being friends?”
“Yes.” She bit into her inner cheek, fighting not to tremble. The terror that tightened her throat made it hard to breathe. She had meant it. She’d been that fucking stupid. The rage in his eyes proved he hadn’t changed at all. “Please, Grant. You have to understand how this looks. I’m a little freaked out. I’ll stay at a friend’s house and—”
“Whose house? Not Dominik’s, he ditched you. Did he see how nuts you can be?” Grant smirked when she bit her bottom lip. “That’s it, isn’t it? You went nuts on him and he lost interest. Smart man.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to fight with you. Just sit down.
Tell me how many guys you’ve pissed off and maybe we’ll get a better idea of who could have done this.”
She’d never reach the door with him standing, but maybe if she got him to relax a little, she could make a run for it. She nodded, moving toward the table. He pulled out a chair. Sat down.
Spinning on her heels, she bolted to the front door. She heard him behind her and knew she hadn’t been fast enough. His hand flattened on the door before she could open it. His other hand latched on to her jaw, fingers digging in until she cried out.
“Why do you do this? I’m fucking trying, Sahara!”
Reacting without thinking, she drove her knee up into his groin. He let out a shout and stumbled back. She opened the door and took the stairs two at a time, losing both her shoes before she reached the parking lot. In her car, she fumbled with her keys. Got it started.
Grant stepped in front of the car. Hit the hood and shouted at her, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Panic had her blood pulsing in her ears. She leaned on the horn and hit the gas.
He jumped out of the way just in time to avoid getting hit.
Tears blinded her as she drove, but she was afraid to stop. She hooked up her phone to her Bluetooth and tried calling Jami. No answer.
She couldn’t call Akira. Cort would find Grant and kill him. Right now, she wasn’t sure she cared if Grant wasn’t around, but…damn it, no. She didn’t want him dead. And she really didn’t want Cort back in jail.
Red and blue lights flashed in the rearview mirror. She pulled over and quickly dried her tears. Damn it, could tonight go any worse? She rolled down her window and thunked her head back against the seat when she saw the woman in uniform, whose dark brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun, was none other than Officer Laura Tallent, who was in a relationship with two of the Cobras. Sahara didn’t think Laura was much of a gossip, but she told her Domme—the fourth in their interesting quad—everything.
And her Domme, Chicklet, was best friends with the Cobras’ assistant coach. So one way or another, everyone would find out about her getting pulled over and why if she didn’t come up with a good excuse for driving erratically. Or fast. Or whatever she’d done.
They’ll find out anyway if you report this. Which you should.
“Fuck my life.” Sahara pulled out her license and registration, holding them out before Laura could even ask. “I’m sorry, Officer Tallent. I didn’t realize I was speeding.”
“You weren’t. You drove through three stop signs.”
Of all the… Sahara pressed her eyes shut. Running stop signs wasn’t much better than speeding. She’d been so distracted, she could have driven straight into another car. Or a person. Her whole body started to shake and bile rose in her throat. Her eyes teared as she struggled to keep from throwing up or passing out.
“Sahara, are you okay?” Laura’s professional demeanor softened as her deep blue eyes widened with concern. She leaned closer to the window. “I can’t see you being this upset about a ticket. What’s going on?”
There was no easy way to explain, and Sahara felt too damn raw to hold anything back. “Someone broke in to my house. He was still there when I walked in and I was scared, so I took off. I should have called the cops, but I just needed to get out of there. I can’t believe I was so fucking stupid. He won’t change—I really wanted to believe he’d change. My life is so much better now and I could have forgiven him.”
“Whoa, wait a second. Did you know the person who broke in to your house?”
Sahara nodded and met Laura’s eyes. “Yes. It was my ex-boyfriend, Grant Higgins.”
“Shit. All right, are you willing to file a report? If you’re too shaken to drive, you can call someone to pick up your car and I’ll bring you to the station.” Laura straightened when Sahara nodded again, looking relieved to have a purpose beyond discussing something so personal. She was a great cop and a good woman, but Sahara had never seen her hanging out with the other Cobra ladies.
She had her job and she had Chicklet. Sahara wasn’t sure how her two men fit into the relationship; the few times she’d seen them at the club, the balance seemed a little uncertain. Not that Sahara could ever hope to make sense of it, she couldn’t imagine managing more than one other person in her life like that.
Not like any of that mattered. Laura would take care of whatever needed to be handled. Privacy meant a lot less than safety right now, and Sahara just wanted to get as far as possible out of Grant’s reach.
Who could she ask to get her car though? They’d have to come pick her up after; she couldn’t expect Laura to babysit her all night.
If she managed to convince Laura and Chicklet not to tell anyone—she needed someone who wasn’t in a relationship. Someone who wasn’t into gossip.
There was always Pischlar. She trusted him enough to scene with at the club. He had a weird relationship with his best friend, Ian White, but they’d been spending less time together recently. And even if White was with him, he never did seem to pay much attention to what was going on around him.
The man wasn’t stupid, despite what many seemed to think. He just looked at the world in such a straightforward way that subtle bullshit went right over his head. Almost as though he felt, if people really wanted him to know what was going on, they’d tell him directly. If not, it wasn’t his business and he didn’t need to worry about it.
“Can you call Shawn Pischlar?” Sahara climbed out of the car as Laura opened the door. Then leaned against the hood while Laura pulled out her cell phone, one brow lifted in question. “I’m afraid if I talk to him now, he’ll assume the worst.”
Laura grinned, her eyes sparkling with wry amusement. “I’m sure him getting a call on your behalf from the police won’t give him the impression that this is good news.”
Damn it, she’s right. Sahara combed her fingers into her hair, dropping her head back and groaning.
One hand up, Laura shook her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he knows you’re all right. If he sees my number and assumes there’s a problem, he’ll think it’s about White or Vanek.”
Not much better. Maybe this was a bad idea.
But it was too late. Laura apparently had Pischlar on speed dial. Which, considering Pischlar was one of the few who could handle White, wasn’t all that surprising.
“Hey, Shawn. No, White’s not in trouble. Excuse me? No, Raif doesn’t want another…” Laura’s cheeks reddened. “I really wouldn’t know, Sir. You’ll have to ask her.”
Oh boy. Yep, very big mistake.
“In case you didn’t notice, I am calling from my work phone—yes, I’m absolutely positive it’s not White. Sahara’s dealt with an emotional trauma and she’s not fit to drive. I’m bringing her to the station to file a report. She wanted to know if you could pick up her car.”
After a brief pause, Laura smiled and nodded. Sahara felt some of the tension ease from her chest.
“Yes. I radioed in for a unit to meet me here. They’ll have her keys. I’ll give them your name.” Laura’s brow furrowed slightly. “I’m not sure how long this will take. She might not want you to… Fine, I’ll tell her.”
After hanging up, Laura met Sahara’s eyes. “He’ll meet you at the station in about twenty minutes. He said not to speak to anyone without a lawyer. I do think the poor boy’s spent too much time with the trouble triplets.”
The slight Southern drawl in Laura’s tone made Sahara smile. She could almost forget why she was going to the police station as she sat in the back of Laura’s car, staring into the darkness. Could almost forget why she couldn’t go home.
But just almost. The one good thing was this wasn’t like the last time she’d had to escape Grant. Back then, she’d pushed away so many friends for daring to show concern that she’d had no one left to turn to. If she hadn’t gotten the opportunity to come to Dartmouth and perform with the Cobras’ Ice Girls…?
She had no idea where she’d be now. Maybe just miserable and depressed like s
he’d been for far too long while stuck in that relationship. More than likely, Grant would have killed her. She’d gone back and forth between believing he’d eventually have beaten her to death and convincing herself there was no way it would have gone that far. He’d gotten progressively more violent near the end, but…
Damn it, after tonight, it made even less sense than ever that she’d defend him. She’d lost her home, possibly twice now. She’d alienated family and friends. Why couldn’t she just see him for what he was?
Because they don’t know him. And I do. I’ve seen him kind and gentle and sweet.
She’d also seen him cold and cruel and vicious.
Reporting him won’t change anything. His lawyers will be calling you in the morning.
Let them. She refused to cower again. At least no one else had gotten hurt because she’d tried to leave it all behind her and not look back. She couldn’t even quite explain why she felt so fucking confused and guilty, but taking part of the blame was almost easier than believing the man she’d loved was that heartless. That he could tell her how much she meant to him one minute, then beat her down the next.
They pulled up in front of the station. Laura came around the car to meet Sahara on the sidewalk. A weariness had stolen into Laura’s eyes, and she sounded worn out as she rested her hip against the side of her car, making no move to go into the station.
“You seem uncertain, Sahara. I can’t force you to come in and file a report. I’m sure you know that if he can hurt you, he’ll do the same to any woman he’s with. Besides that, you’re not safe. If he’s gotten to the point that he’s breaking in to your apartment, there’s no telling what he will do next.” She took a deep breath. “If you file a report, and follow through with pressing charges, we can bring him to court. Maybe get him out of here for good.”
If the charges stuck. And if Grant’s lawyers didn’t find a way to make her look like a liar or a slut or whatever else they could manage to discredit her testimony.
Goal Line (The Dartmouth Cobras Book 7) Page 9