by Joey W. Hill
“She cornered you and broke every rule there is about how to treat a sub. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. Why…why did you…”
“No. Not me.” She touched his face, bringing his gaze up to her worried eyes, her tense features. “Someone pretended to be me, had the staff send you that text. I was expecting to see you at dinner tomorrow, our usual routine.”
“So you didn’t…”
“Mother of God, no. No, sweet boy. Sssh.” She tried to put her arms around him, but it was too soon. He pushed away. She let him go, respecting that, but as he struggled to his feet and gripped the bars of the cage to stay on them, the darkness kept closing in on him.
“Not. I’m not that. I tried to kill her. Wanted to kill her.”
“Duncan.” Regina stood before him, giving him space but staying in his direct line of vision, keeping his focus on her. At least externally.
“You have triggers. You know that. She was so set on making you face what you did to her and taking her pound of flesh, she had no interest in why you did it or who you are. So she stomped on those triggers and set them off. You didn’t want to kill her, Marius. You were protecting yourself.”
Protecting himself? Regina hadn’t been in his head, hearing those voices, feeling the drive to take life from someone who was mocking him. He would have done it and felt nothing.
He brought his gaze to Alex, who stood on their periphery. Though he was trying to maintain a professional DM façade, his unhappiness and unease suggested guilt. The sharp look Regina shot him said she’d also put it together.
“Taught me a lesson, did you?” Marius said softly.
He was aware of Regina moving closer, her tension increasing. She was worried he would launch himself at Alex, pound his self-righteous face into a wall. He could do it. Make him bleed. Make him beg.
Alex met Marius’s gaze squarely, despite the shame and regret suffusing his features. “She’s been so off her game since it happened, and this seemed a way to help her get peace about it. You said you were wanting to understand, you said you’re sorry. She said Regina had asked for a temporary pass and knew about it. She didn’t tell me it was going to be like this. Or about your father. And…I thought I’d be here. There was a problem in the other room—”
“A fucking distraction, you idiot,” Regina snapped. “Which accomplished exactly what they intended. And the Mistress who knew I was working late tonight helps in The Zone administrative offices. She approved the fucking pass in my name. What got me here was Tina’s text to confirm I knew about this, because she thought something was up. Apparently she has better instincts than the damn Dungeon Master watching the floor.”
Alex nodded, accepting that, looking miserable. The rage simmering in Marius had no target. He was weary. Too weary too care. “I’m going to go change,” he said woodenly. Things felt very distant, as if Regina and Alex were tiny figures within a model version of The Zone, and he was floating somewhere around it, detached.
“Good. We’ll go home,” Regina said. He backed away, shaking his head.
“Not now.” Not ever. The certainty of it was a rock in his chest where his heart should be. He stared at her, her beauty and strength, her glorious anger only exceeded by concern about him. It made everything inside him hurt. Abruptly, he dropped to one still quivering knee. “Thank you, Mistress. But we’re done. I’m done. I don’t belong here. Or with you.”
He rose and strode away. As he passed through the club, through the quiet knots of people with accusing or curious eyes, he didn’t pay attention to anything or anyone. He kept going, knowing if he stopped too long the lava inside him would explode, overflow, too many emotions to manage. But he knew where to find an outlet for those. He just needed to get in his street clothes and get the hell out of here.
As he went down the stairs to where the locker rooms were, he was brought up short by someone unexpected. Marguerite Winterman, dressed in white blouse and dark gold pencil-style skirt, her pale blue eyes focused on his face.
“You need your Mistress,” she said quietly. “Don’t run away from her.”
He put his hands on her arms and bodily moved her out of his way. Albeit without malice or harm, it was still way outside of protocol for him to put his hands on her. But he was no longer bound by any of this. He’d proven once and for all it was something that couldn’t keep him in check, no matter how much he had hoped for and craved the right to belong to a Mistress. He had no rights when it came to Mistresses. Not now, or ever again.
Marguerite reached out to hold his arm, but he pushed away, rougher this time, a warning. “You’ve always been just as fucked up as I am,” he told her cuttingly. The pain of that truth swamped him. “You know I need to go.”
“I know that’s what everything inside you is telling you that you need to do,” she said neutrally. “But it’s wrong. You won’t fix it until you stand in front of a mirror and stay there, as long as needed to fix the problem. You learned to look in that mirror with a Mistress by your side, but to deserve her, you have to do the scary part. Look in that mirror by yourself and see what’s not fucked-up. What’s worth saving. You.”
She moved away, and he realized she’d bought Regina enough time to catch up with him. Stifling a curse, he marched into the locker room area, not at all surprised when his Mistress followed him.
Regina sat down on a bench as he yanked open his locker and pulled out his clothes. She didn’t say anything as he stripped off the thong and put on underwear, jeans and a T-shirt. He stuffed his feet into socks and shoes. But when he closed the locker, she rose and put her arm in front of him, blocking his exit.
“What do you want from me?” he demanded. “I can’t be it.”
“Yes, you can. You are. But the real question is what do you want for yourself?” She caught his face in both hands, forcing him to look at her. He should shove away from her as he had Marguerite, but he couldn’t seem to make himself do that. He had to curl his hands into fists not to clutch her wrists, bruise, manacle her to him forever.
“If you didn’t want anything for yourself,” she said, “if you weren’t willing to fight through the demons to get it, then I would want nothing from you. But I know you’re a formidable fighter. You’ve just always fought for and against the wrong things. And you’re not going to go fight now. You’re not in the right frame of mind. You could do yourself or others real harm.”
“You think?” he snapped.
Her expression went hard and cold. She was going to get all badass Mistress on him, and he didn’t want to feel the eagerness rise in him for that tough hand. It would fucking tear him apart, what he wanted eclipsed by what he didn’t deserve.
It was as Marguerite had said. Maybe she’d meant it another way, but it boiled down to this. Was he only worth something if Regina was riding herd on him, taking care of him, being his warden? If so, she didn’t deserve to have that shit dumped on her, and he couldn’t handle the idea that that was the best he could do, all he could be for her. She deserved…everything.
“You’re not going,” she said firmly, stepping toe to toe with him. Though he knew the concerns and genuine caring driving her, it merely emphasized his demoralizing thoughts.
“I. Don’t. Need. A. Fucking. Keeper.” He snarled it, punctuating each syllable by hitting the locker next to her with his closed fist. She flinched at the first blow, her body and face so close to the shadow of his rage, but then she locked it down and kept her expression frozen as he dented the metal with impressive force. It wasn’t enough. It just made the violence rise even more. Fuck it. He had to deal with what was inside him, and there were two sure ways he knew how to do that. He wasn’t going to risk her with the way she’d taught him to prefer.
Tal had gotten him on the roster for a fight downtown tonight. A shadier crowd than he usually dealt with, but good money. He could use that money to get out of town. Keep driving and driving and driving.
He pushed down a sudden absurd w
rench in his chest when he thought of Dot waiting for him to come home. Regina would love and take care of the kitten. They’d take care of each other.
“You do need a keeper. Especially if the only solution you can come up with is running,” she said shortly.
He curled his lip in a sneer and moved past her. She wrapped her arms around him so he’d have to physically dislodge her to leave. She felt so good, everything he needed to feel…right. But none of that came from inside him, did it?
He turned them, using his strength to overpower her, to shove her against the lockers, hold her there with her wrists pinned, his body pushed between her legs so she couldn’t kick him. The brief flash of surprise in her face didn’t come with panic, thank God. If he ever frightened her like he had Siren, he’d just kill himself. But he put his mouth to her throat, to the pulse there.
“I’ve always been stronger physically,” he said against her skin. “You’re stronger in every other way, all the ways that count. You’re everything. I love you, Regina. I love you so fucking much. Enough to let you go. Don’t follow me.”
He pushed her away and left the locker room, aware of Marguerite still standing outside the door. Good. She’d be there for his Mistress. There was nothing he could give her, and the burning of his gut, carrying Regina’s knowing yet stricken look with him, told him she’d given him everything.
Marguerite entered the locker room right after Marius stormed out of it. She found Regina on a bench, bent over double. She hurried to her side, concerned, but the woman straightened, drawing a deep breath. Although she had tears on her face, her eyes blazed with russet fire. “Where is that bitch?”
“Somewhere you shouldn’t be right now,” Marguerite said wisely. “Where’s he going?”
“Probably to one of his damn fights to get his head beaten in. I dropped my phone in his car on the way in here. I’ll give him enough time to get there and then call my locater service to find it for me and go after him. Where is she?” she repeated. “Tell me, or I will tear this fucking place apart to find her.”
“If it wasn’t right for her to go after Marius for revenge, it’s no better for you to do the same.”
Regina closed her eyes. “Sure, be fucking logical. Goddamn, Marguerite. How the hell did she know who his father was?”
But she already knew the answer to the question. Siren had likely been obsessing about Marius since their ill-fated night. Siren was a wealthy woman with deep pockets. If she’d wanted to dig up dirt she could use against him, it wouldn’t have been outside her means. Maybe she’d even picked up a hint from the news reports of Larabee’s execution, where they’d shown full color pictures of him when he was in his twenties. The resemblance to Marius was chillingly remarkable.
“Does she have any idea what can of worms she broke open tonight?” Regina demanded. “We were getting closer to him realizing he needs counseling. I could see him starting to figure it out, knowing he and I could only go so far.” Renewed fury surged through her. “Sorry, I don’t care how fucked up she is. I’m going to go fuck her up worse.”
Marguerite sat down on the bench next to her, putting a restraining hand on her forearm. “Terry called Tyler and the other owners, and the club has been closed for the night. They’re clearing it now, and Alex was told to wait for Tyler’s arrival in his office. This is a very serious situation, and they’ll get to the bottom of all who were involved in it. They will handle that. Your job is Marius. Take a breath. You said he’s made progress. Something like this, as horrible as it seems at first, can help.”
“Yeah, maybe. Or it can go completely to shit.”
Marguerite ran a light hand down her back. “You love him.”
“Yeah.” Regina snorted. “He loves me, too. Told me right before taking off. Stubborn ass. Men. Dumbass men.”
“They have their uses.”
“And after that fifteen minutes, there’s the whole rest of the day to kill,” Regina quipped grimly. Marguerite made an amused noise of agreement. They sat quietly shoulder to shoulder.
“I get it,” Regina said at last. “He was a total shit to her and broke her, so this was evening the score. She did what she did tonight without any understanding or compassion for who and what he is, and he did the same thing the night he hurt her. But still…”
“Two acts of malicious harm rarely cancel one another out,” Marguerite supplied the rest of what Regina was feeling. “Typically, they only make things worse on both sides.”
“He was trying so hard. I can’t even describe it.”
“He would have faced this eventually. If not here, like this, in another way. The question is if he’s progressed enough to find his way back without you guiding him.” Marguerite nudged her knee with her own. “He’s always focused on his physical strength. You helped him see he’s stronger inside than he ever knew. It’s what a Dom who loves you does. Have faith in that love.”
Marius didn’t want to think about faith, love, understanding or patience. He wanted to pound on flesh until he reached blood, bone and quivering muscle. He parked in the alley and beat on the back door, stepping back as it was opened by a tall, scarred Asian Indian man who went by the short name of Sisk. Sisk didn’t speak, only nodded when Marius told him he was scheduled to fight and Tal was his manager. Marius stripped off his jacket as he moved through the dark, dank hallway that smelled of sweat and men. There were no show ponies here, no eye candy, no showmanship or good-natured characters like Top Hat.
This was down and dirty fighting where injuries and the occasional death was the norm. The bettors were the dark end of the spectrum high rollers. Crime lords and their underlings, drug dealers who liked fights of any kind, seedy, shifty-eyed guys like his father who did things in the shadows and came here to watch live violence for entertainment, the bloodier the better.
The first event was the appetizer and warm-up. In an open area loosely ringed by the shouting crowd of spectators, nearly a dozen guys were engaged in a violent brawl. Weaving, ducking, punching, kicking, biting—a brutal free-for-all. Anyone signed up to fight—meaning someone on whom the bookies had taken odds—could jump in the ring and just start punching. Perfect for his mood. He stripped off his shirt and shoved through the crowd, slamming his fist into the first jaw that presented itself. The hit landed so hard it took the guy off his feet, spinning him around with a spurt of blood. He face-planted on the stained concrete.
Someone recognized Marius and the cry was taken up, a hot wave of noise. “Rabid, Rabid!”
Shutting everything else down, he waded into battle. He would keep fighting until he stood on a mountain of bodies. Or they buried him under them.
Regina found his car as she was making a circle around the parking area littered with trash and no cars. Attendees must be parking elsewhere. It sent a ripple of unease through her, because though the other fight she’d attended had been illegal, there was illegal and there was criminal. This had the scent of the latter, which told all her smart brain cells she should get the hell out of here and regroup with Marius later.
But what happened if his state of mind kept him fighting until he was seriously injured…or worse? Not only was he spun up, but he was at a fight that might potentially have even less rules than usual.
The other venue had made it clear hot women were welcome at fights. She didn’t know of many male-oriented events that didn’t have the same policy. So ready or not, she was coming in. Parking next to his Civic and getting out of her car, she shrugged all her confidence and armor in place, marching up to the scarred gray alley door to knock on it.
“You lost, honey?”
She squashed a nervous start at the drawl. Turning, she saw a knot of men sitting in the shadows, sharing whatever their drug of choice was. The one who’d spoken to her was wiping the powder residue off his irritated nostrils.
“Not hardly,” she said coolly. “I’m with one of the fighters. Rabid.”
Another man grinned, showing oddly white teeth, a g
old one winking in the middle. “Not here. No bitches allowed at this kind of fight. Rabid don’t give a shit about you if he told you to come down here. Or he has a whore who likes being shared. Only pussy at this fight are fair game for all of us.”
“Well, he didn’t get the memo.” She rapped sharply on the door again, without obvious hurry, and casually tried the latch, finding it locked. Praying someone would answer, she leaned on the wall next to the door, crossed her arms and eyeballed them with all the icy calm she was used to employing as a Mistress. However, the creeping fear sliding up her vitals told her that veneer wouldn’t withstand the first man willing to break through it. She’d made a mistake. Now she had to figure out how to get out of it. Wits and calm were her best defense. Working in a prison had taught her that, too.
“I’ll get my cell out of the car and call him,” she said, putting bored annoyance in her voice.
As she straightened, they rose. Her panic climbed as others came out of the shadows.
“Yeah, you could make a break for that fancy car of yours,” the ringleader said. He rubbed a hand over his crotch, a revolting gesture. He had a large, bald head, dark clothes and a sleeve tattoo that seemed to feature a lot of skulls. He could qualify as the poster child for lowlifes. “It’s more fun to chase a girl.”
“In your dreams,” she said. Examining her nearest options, she saw a piece of rebar had been left next to the door, maybe to prop it open. There were a couple garbage cans, a small stack of bricks and a metal bucket with a mop in it. She picked up the rebar. “Stay the fuck away from me.”
“Sure, honey.” He nodded to the men on his right and put his hand on his belt. “I’m going to beat this bitch into submission and then fuck her ass. Take her down.”
Blood. The repetitive thud of flesh on flesh. Screams as an arm broke somewhere. The roar of the crowd, like a TV gone to static late at night. When he was growing up, the old TV set in his room hadn’t had cable, long past when everyone else had gotten their 100+ channels. One of the three channels it received played the national anthem in the small hours of the night before it went to that soft rush of white noise. He’d leave it on in the graveyard hours, so things couldn’t get him in the dark. A futile wish.