Collaring Colleen [Tales from the Lyon's Den 2] (Siren Publishing Menage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  Carter placed his hand on Quest’s shoulder. Over the last couple of years, Quest had come to appreciate the simplest touches, the only touches they could share publicly. Both their employers gave lip service to not discriminating based on religion, gender, or sexual orientation. But that wasn’t a principle either of them wanted to test just yet. “There’s no doubt in my mind, Damion. We will find her.”

  “Were you able to reach out to your confidential informant?” Quest took his eyes off the video that was playing on the computer screen in front of him to look over at his best friend.

  “Yeah. He’s agreed to meet me at seven for coffee.” Chance shrugged. “He figures all the rest of the vermin he runs with will be face first in whatever shithole they crash that early in the morning. He said the chances of being seen by anyone who can do him harm, at what he called the butt-crack of dawn, are pretty low.”

  “He probably has a point.”

  Quest sat forward and looked at the young tech diligently working the keyboard. “If you can even give us the guy’s ear, Billy, that would be huge.”

  The young man’s eyes widened. “I heard of that new tool, but I thought it was ultra-classified.”

  Quest didn’t bother to comment on that. The program, which he hadn’t thought Billy knew about, was ultra-classified. Normally, he’d have to run using it past his boss who’d have to run it past his boss because that technology was closely held by one particular government agency—and it wasn’t theirs.

  Unless, of course, one happened to be connected to someone who could get her hands on damn near anything she wanted, whenever she wanted.

  “It’s going to take me another hour, if I’m lucky, but actually closer to two, more likely, to finish enhancing the footage we have and trying to isolate the image of the driver of this car.”

  “Fair enough, Billy. We’ll leave you to it, then. We do appreciate you putting in the overtime.”

  “Mr. Wells told me to help you in any way I can, and that’s what I’m doing.”

  So was Porter Wells—helping in any way he could. Quest already knew Bill Drake was the only “official help” that Porter could give him on his search for Mercy Duncan. Unofficial help, though, was Porter’s specialty. Damion knew he didn’t have to worry about anything Billy might report to their mutual boss. Porter was good at pretending he didn’t know things—unless a crucial situation arose where he did.

  “We should try to catch an hour or two of sleep,” Chance said. “We’re both about at the bottom of our fuel tanks.”

  Quest nodded. “Let’s crash upstairs, then.” To Billy, he said, “There’s more Coke in the fridge. We’ll be down in two and a half hours.”

  The young man nodded, and Quest figured, by the softness of his sigh, he was looking forward to being left alone to do his work.

  Personally, he thought he and Chance had both been pretty restrained, all things considered. They hadn’t told Billy in so many words about their personal connection to Mercy Duncan, but he figured the kid was smart enough to figure that out for himself.

  He and Chance took the stairs and entered the largest bedroom at the end of the hall. Chance closed the door then leaned against it. “I take it, from that request you just made, that you’re going to be making a phone call and begging a certain someone for help?”

  Damion turned and met Chance’s gaze. “Yeah. After we get some rest and after Billy gets us that damn ear.”

  “You’re just full of faith in humanity today. You know that’s not like you, right? I mean, the ‘you’ you’ve shown the rest of the world up till now.”

  Damion shrugged. “We have to find her, Chance. There is no other option. We have to find her.” He felt as much as heard the hitch in his voice. He’d been a tough-as-nails agent for the whole of his career, but he’d always known there was a limit. He’d hit the outer edges of that limit a few months back when he’d brought an end to his last deep-cover assignment.

  He’d felt hope and joy—so damn much joy—when they’d met Mercy Duncan. One look that was all it had taken. He’d known who he wanted, and he even knew where he wanted them all to settle in and settle down.

  And then some soulless bastard had taken their woman—their future. It was no damn wonder Damion felt like he was about to shatter into a thousand pieces.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough it should have cleared his emotions. Should have. Damn it, asshole, you have to keep it together. Chance needs you. Mercy needs you.

  “Let it go.”

  Damion opened his eyes to find Chance standing bare inches in front of him. “Come and lie down. We need to rest. I’ll set the alarm. You just close your eyes.”

  Damion took the advice. He let it go, all of it. He stretched out on the king-sized bed and forced himself to go through the same exercise he used when he prepared to meditate. Not something he’d done a lot, but Chance had convinced him it was a good habit to form.

  Then Chance—his best friend, his lover—crawled onto the bed next to him and held him close.

  “We’ll find our woman,” Chance said. “And we’ll gut the bastard who dared to touch her.”

  “Sounds like a plan. If I can get my head out of my fucking emotions.”

  “Emotions are allowed. Take this two and a half hours, love. Hang onto me, and just let it all go.”

  Damion clung for all he was worth. He took comfort and, in taking, gave it right back. They were both stressed, both of them very afraid that whatever they did from here on out would be too little, too late. But his fear didn’t stop him from reaching out, mentally, as he had for the last couple of days, ever since he’d found out Mercy had been taken. He’d dismissed, for most of his life, the stories his grandmother had told him, years ago, of being special—like her grandfather, and like her. Damion Quest had been a man grounded in reality, in logic, and in his devotion to his duty. But now…now, when he was at his own personal nadir, he found the things he’d been told, the things he’d claimed to disbelieve, were there, right there, as if it was another tool that simply waited for him to use. He had to believe that, somehow, in some way, Mercy knew they were looking for her.

  And so, because it seemed the right thing to do, he reached out, his mantra the same it had been since he’d learned of her disappearance.

  Hang on, little one. We’ll find you. We’re not going to give up on you. Don’t you give up, either. You hang on. Do whatever you have to do to survive. We’re coming.

  * * * *

  Mercy Duncan couldn’t stop shivering. Huddled in on herself as best as she could, she couldn’t manage to get warm, not even a little bit. The plastic beneath her, which had, at one point, felt swelteringly hot, right now was just cold. Cold and uncomfortable.

  He’d laughed when she’d awakened naked and lying on the plastic. He could throw the plastic away, he’d said, so there’d be no DNA evidence left behind. She hadn’t known then what he’d meant.

  Then.

  How long had she been here?

  Her mind couldn’t seem to function. The shivering didn’t help. It had to be hours, maybe even days. As much as she needed to be warm, she needed to be left alone, too. She didn’t want him to come back. She could barely sleep because asleep she wouldn’t hear him coming.

  A distant sound made her blood run cold. No, not again. Please, not again.

  The door to the room she was in opened, and she caught a glimpse that confirmed for her, anyway, that she was in a basement. Then he was there, filling the doorway. Kelson Bastard Jefferies. She tried to keep her mind sharp, her mental resistance quiet.

  She had bruises where he’d beaten her to keep her from mouthing back. He could do that. He could keep her from speaking but not, by God, from thinking.

  At least, she hoped he couldn’t.

  “Aw, you’re shivering. Are you cold, sweetheart?”

  Mercy couldn’t stand that smarmy voice, that false solicitation. She knew him for the monster he was. She didn’t want to gi
ve him any quarter but couldn’t stop herself from nodding, just slightly.

  “Well, then, I guess it’s up to me to warm you up.”

  She recognized the leer, and when he began to undress, she closed her eyes, not wanting to see him, not wanting to acknowledge him in any way.

  She felt his weight on the bed and his hands on her body, turning her over, forcing her flat.

  Please, no. Please, no. Please, no.

  She did her best to blank her mind, to let herself drift. And as it had the last two times she’d done so, another voice, another reality, settled around her, another presence warmed her, and comforted her.

  Hang on, little one. We’ll find you. We’re not going to give up on you. Don’t you give up, either. You hang on. Do whatever you have to do to survive. We’re coming.

  She hadn’t answered the last few times, but now, she did. She mentally blocked what the bastard was doing to her body and focused all she was on that voice.

  Hurry, Damion. Please hurry.

  Chapter Eleven

  Since it was after nine in the morning, Rob began cooking breakfast. There’d be a bit of sausage, of course, because this was Texas, and Daniel liked his sausage. But Ellie had purchased fresh fruits and vegetables the day before, so Rob threw together a fruit salad and opted for pancakes instead of eggs.

  He figured if the sausage didn’t rouse them from their slumber, the coffee would. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d let them both sleep until they awoke naturally. He’d seen the exhaustion and the tension in Colleen from the first moment he’d set eyes on her. As for Daniel…Rob turned his attention back on his breakfast preparations. He was almost afraid to hope where Daniel was concerned.

  His best friend—his brother—had come back from his last tour in Afghanistan a changed man. Daniel let enough slip, the one and only time Rob had gotten the man drunk, to understand there’d been a woman and that she’d been killed.

  Before that last tour, Daniel and he had talked about perhaps finding a single woman to share permanently, as their wife. She’d have to be a submissive, of course, though neither of them had any desire to live the lifestyle twenty-four-seven. But its practice, its tenets, were important to them both. They had already shared a few subs and knew the arrangement suited them both to a tee.

  There was a lot of talk in popular culture about subs needing their subspace. Rob believed, fervently, that Doms needed Domspace just as much. There were different levels of that state of mind, something he’d only learned recently.

  Until he’d experienced it himself, he hadn’t even really believed it existed. He’d been working with a submissive at the Lyon’s Den for a couple of months. And while Daniel had joined in, and enjoyed Nellie, he hadn’t connected with her the way Rob had.

  He could still recall when it happened, a flogging she’d begged for. Suddenly, it seemed as if the world disappeared, as if there was only Nellie and only him. He could hear each sigh, each breath, he watched as her body seemed to ripple in response to his flogger. The moment had felt surreal, as if he was having an out of body experience.

  It had taken him about ten seconds to understand she’d used her safe word. Apparently, she hadn’t been as into the moment as usual. Rob had felt sick when he’d realized what had happened.

  Later, in talking to Christopher, he’d learned that he’d actually gone beyond what most Doms referred to as Domspace—that state of feeling in total control of everything, the gratification of caring for their submissive to the exclusion of all else.

  Christopher had understood what had happened to Rob when he hadn’t understood it himself.

  He didn’t know if Daniel had ever experienced that, but he’d seen his brother before his last deployment and knew that the connection he formed with his submissive was solid. When Daniel returned, he seemed aimless for a couple of months and had even avoided the Lyon’s Den. Then he’d begun his PI business, had enlisted Rob’s technical expertise, and even dug out his leathers. It had taken Rob a bit of time to understand that, although his brother appeared to be taking up where he’d left off before this latest war had grabbed him, he really hadn’t returned to the way he’d been at all—and he sure as hell hadn’t developed any kind of a connection with any of the submissives they shared.

  There was no more talk of a wife they would share and no subs for more than a couple of nights. Whatever had happened to Daniel, it had hurt him beyond speaking and changed him profoundly.

  Until last night. No, until he’d set eyes on Colleen the day before yesterday at the club. Just as there had been an instant spark for Rob that night, there’d been one for Daniel, too. He’d seen the look on Daniel’s face that first night here, when he’d held Colleen on his lap. Whether his friend wanted to admit it or not, Colleen belonged to him now, just as she belonged to Rob. Daniel Welsh, Dominant, was back.

  Now all I have to do is figure out a way to work the two of them around to the same page I’m on. But as much as he wanted to help Daniel, his first priority had to be Colleen. She needed them both, had needed them, probably, for years.

  The sound of a step alerted him he was no longer alone. Daniel entered the kitchen, headed for the coffee pot. Cup in hand, he waited until the final drop fell before he poured some out.

  “Colleen’s in the shower.” He grinned as he lifted his mug to his lips. “It was the coffee that woke her.”

  “And the sausage that likely got to you.” Rob poured himself a cup. He’d begin the pancakes in a couple of minutes.

  “It did.” Daniel met his gaze. “She damn near slid into subspace with just that little bit of binding last night. I thought it would take days, if not weeks, for her to trust us enough to let go that much…” Daniel shook his head, and Rob understood completely. They’d both been Doms long enough to understand a submissive had to feel a level of trust toward a Dom—or two—in order for the sub to reach subspace. Unless she was a sub used to different Doms in the club setting.

  It was one of the reasons Rob didn’t want to share temporary subs going forward. There was no sense of accomplishment or of a purpose met with someone you scened with one day, only. There would certainly be no connection, no relationship, no family with a line of temporary submissives.

  Rob wanted more than temporary. He wanted a wife, one he could share. And he was pretty certain that, deep down inside, that was what Daniel wanted, too. Clearly, Daniel had awoken with that soul-deep satisfaction that he’d given his submissive what she’d needed the night before.

  “Have you heard anything from Damion or Carter yet this morning?”

  “Just a quick e-mail.” Rob took a sip of his coffee then set the cup down as he got out the pancake ingredients. “Damion reports they’ve made some progress with the search for Mercy’s car. He’ll update us on that later. Also, Carter has a confidential informant he was to meet with this morning. The C.I. may be able to give them a lead toward finding out who else is looking for Mercy.”

  “I think that’s key. I think that whoever else is looking for her is somehow connected to not only why she was taken but by who. We’ve lost too many days while the HPD twiddled their damned thumbs,” Daniel said. “I had a hunch that things would move faster once Damion and Chance joined us.”

  “Damion does have access to sources we don’t,” Rob said. “At least, not legally. That’s why I contacted his boss, hoping Porter would let us tap him for this.”

  Daniel tilted his head and studied Rob. “You were protecting Damion with that request, as well, weren’t you?”

  Rob shrugged. “I don’t know how much the man knows about Damion’s lifestyle. I thought the surest way to have him with us was to ask Porter for his help.”

  “Mr. West does appear to like your innovations,” Daniel said. “And how better to ensure he gets them to test than to do you a favor?” He met Rob’s gaze. “There’s no doubt Damion and Chance are motivated. We both knew that night, when we watched Bradley introduce Mercy to them, how that was l
ikely going to go.”

  “How what was likely to go?”

  Colleen’s voice, still sleep husky, sent a shaft of pure longing down Rob’s spine. He turned and smiled at her and then took the few steps necessary to bring him to her. He lowered his head and kissed her. She responded so damn sweetly. He wanted to go deep. He wanted to feel her give way as she had done, over and over again, all night long.

  Instead, he lifted his head. “Good morning. I’ll bring you a cup of coffee. Sit, baby. How do you feel?”

  Colleen frowned at him, and he wanted to laugh because he knew she thought her question wasn’t going to be answered. “I feel good, thank you. I slept—well, when I slept—better than I have in a long time.”

  “Come and sit, Colleen.” Daniel took her hand and led her the short distance to the kitchen table. “We’ll sit right here, and answer any and all of your questions, unless we don’t know the answers to them.” Daniel planted a light kiss on her lips. “Remember, we promised never to lie to you.”

  “I do remember.” Colleen sighed, and Rob knew she’d released her suspicion. It would take her longer to trust them with the details of her life than it had taken her to trust them with her body. He didn’t find that fact strange at all.

  Rob quickly fixed Colleen her first coffee of the day then took a moment to run his hand down her hair and across her shoulders. There was something about just touching her that settled him.

  “How what was likely to go?” Colleen repeated her question. Rob walked back to the counter to make the pancake batter, letting Daniel take the lead.