Collaring Brooke (Club Zodiac Book 3)

by Becca Jameson

  The first thing he did was clean up the mess they’d left in the kitchen, reminding himself she needed to eat soon. She had been hungry, or at least pretended to be before he’d dominated her body so thoroughly.

  When he had the kitchen put back together, he grabbed his computer and opened it on the table.

  He had a mission. Find out who she really was. Perhaps it was a bad idea and he would be opening a can of worms that would explode in their faces, but he knew one thing for sure—if he was alone in the world and there was any possibility he had family out there somewhere, he’d want to know.

  Grandparents. Siblings. Her father.

  He shuddered when he considered the ramifications of finding her father. What if the man had been abusive? Now that Carter knew her mother abused her, he shifted his thinking a bit, but it wasn’t uncommon for someone who was abused to pass on the legacy because it was all they knew.

  There were other possibilities. Maybe her mother was the only abuser, and her father had spent the last twenty-two years looking for his lost daughter.

  Far more alarming was the idea that the woman who’d raised her wasn’t her mother at all. Brooke could have been kidnapped. Considering how hidden her mother had kept her, it was a real possibility.

  With nothing to go on but her name, he started searching. An hour later, he had nothing. Not a trace of Brooke Madden anywhere. No trace of Ann Madden either. He needed more information. When she woke up, he would feed her and then encourage her to go through all those boxes to see if there was even a hint about her past in them.

  Shoving from the table, he headed for the kitchen to make sandwiches. Before he had them finished, she stepped quietly into the room. “I fell asleep,” she whispered.

  “Yeah. I might have worn you out.” He grinned.

  Her face flushed a lovely red as she glanced away. She was fully dressed again, even her shoes.

  “I made you a sandwich.” He nodded at the stool across the island from him. “Let’s eat, and then I have an idea.”

  She eased into the room, took a seat on the stool, and lifted a bottle of water to her lips, downing most of it in seconds. “I was thirsty.”

  “I bet. Sorry, I should have made you drink something before you fell asleep.”

  Her hands were shaking when she picked up the sandwich. “Starving too.”

  He opened a bag of potato chips next and then cut up an apple, all the while trying to ignore how much he hated thinking about how many years she’d gone without proper food. Most of her life, if he had to guess.

  “Mmm,” she moaned around the first bite before swallowing. “Turkey and cheddar beats PBJ any day of the week.”

  He reached for his own sandwich, fighting the knot in his throat. Before Brooke, he would have thought this lunch to be stupid and boring. Now, he had a new outlook.

  He needed to change the subject before he got so sentimental it turned into melancholy. “I think we should go through your things and see if we can find some information about your mom or anyone else in your family.”

  She hesitated, stopping herself before putting a chip in her mouth. “I don’t think I have anything that would help,” she said without looking at him.

  “Brooke, look at me.”

  She lifted her gaze reluctantly. It was the only way he could read her better. Her eyes couldn’t hide her feelings.

  “We need to find out who you are. If we find out you have no living family or even a father, at least you’ll have closure. But what if people have been looking for you for twenty-two years? Think of the pain they’ve endured.”

  She nodded, sighing. “You’re right, but it scares me to death. What if you were also right about my father? What if he abused me and my mother?” She shuddered.

  “It’s possible. But you’re a grown woman now. He can’t hurt you. And I’ll be with you every step of the way. I’m not sending you out to hunt people down on your own.”

  “Don’t you have to work? You can’t continue to spend every hour with me. I’m keeping you from your real life.”

  He set his sandwich down, slid off the stool, and rounded the island. Slipping his arms around her, he set them on the edges of the counter and put his mouth to her ear. “I have people who work for me. They’re fine for a few days without me. And you are my real life.” It was the only way he could fathom telling her how he felt without scaring the shit out of her.

  Screw the fact that he’d known her for only a few weeks. Never mind that she didn’t know who she was or where she came from. She was his.

  Please, God, make that be true.

  Her voice was barely above a whisper when she responded, but his ears were close enough to catch every word. “When you touch me, I lose myself.”

  He set his nose in the crook of her neck, inhaled her scent, and then kissed the spot. “When I touch you, you realize you’re mine.” He was taking a risk continuing along this line, but it wasn’t as if he intended to give her up easily, so it was better she understood the score.

  He tucked one arm under her breasts and held her back against his chest, still nuzzling her neck.

  Her breath hitched. “You make my head spin. I just found out this morning that my entire life might be a giant lie, Carter. I need to figure some things out.”

  “I know, baby, and I’m going to help you.”

  She leaned closer. “Okay.”

  Thank God. “Eat your lunch, and then we’ll dig around in your boxes.”

  She nodded.

  An hour later they had all the boxes spread on the floor and Carter was riffling through a pile of old papers. So far he had found nothing interesting. Her mother’s name was Ann Madden. That was it. Not revolutionary. Also not helpful.

  Suddenly, his fingers hit a book on the bottom of the box. He grabbed it and lifted it out, shaking off the dust. It must have sat on a shelf or something for years before she dropped it in the box.

  “Bingo,” he said as he held it out toward her.

  “What is it?”

  “A yearbook from twenty-three years ago. It has to be your mother’s. From high school.” He frowned at the date. Her mother had been very young.

  “How old was your mother when she died?”

  Brooke shrugged. “No idea. She never admitted her age to anyone.” She climbed over several piles of stuff and tentatively reached out. Flipping it open, she turned to the M’s. “She’s not in here.” Her shoulders fell.

  Carter lifted her chin with his fingers. “Let’s take it to the kitchen. I bet she’s in there.” Under a different name… He was certain of it, though he was less certain about how Brooke would react when they found her. He threaded his fingers with hers and led her from the room.

  “That book isn’t much older than me,” she pointed out. “You think my mother had me in high school?”

  “Looks like it.” He gave her hand a squeeze.

  “Do you recognize the name of the school?” she asked as he pulled out a chair for her to sit and then scooted her in.

  “Yes. It’s on the outskirts of West Palm Beach, only about an hour from here.”

  She jerked her gaze to him as he sat next to her. “You think my mom went to high school that close to here and never mentioned a word about my family?”

  “It could make sense. If she had limited finances and needed to get away and hide somewhere, Miami wasn’t a bad choice. I mean, it worked, didn’t it?”

  She nodded. “Apparently. I feel so stupid. I stopped asking questions years ago. Every time I tried to get information out of her…” Her voice trailed off. “Well, it didn’t go well.”

  Carter seriously wanted to go back in time and kill the woman himself. He set his hand on the yearbook and leaned in closer to Brooke. “You never told me how she died.”

  “She had a stroke.”

  “A stroke? So young.”

  “Apparently.”

  “Were you with her?”

  “No. She was at work. We weren’t cleaning a
t the same location that day. The owner of the business called an ambulance. She died before I got to the hospital.”

  “How did you afford the expenses and the funeral costs?” There were so many holes in Brooke’s life that he didn’t know how to begin to fill them.

  “I didn’t. We didn’t have insurance. The coroner’s office cremated her. I never even went to pick up the ashes.” She covered her face with her hands and ducked her head. “I was so angry with her.”

  Carter wrapped an arm around her back and drew her side in closer. He tucked her head against his chest and threaded his other fingers in her hair. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how difficult that would have been.” He wondered if Brooke was angry with her mother for leaving her or for years of abuse or both. It didn’t matter.

  After several minutes, Brooke took a breath and sat up straighter. “I’m okay. Let’s find out who my mom is.” She opened the yearbook to the first page.

  Carter turned her face toward him and gave her a quick kiss. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to figure this out.” He hated making that promise because he feared things were going to get a lot worse before they got better.

  Most importantly, he would bet money Brooke was either taken from her father or stolen from someone else. Both scenarios would be difficult to swallow.

  Starting on the first page, they scanned through hundreds of pictures. It took a long time since they paused many times to consider anyone who resembled Brooke’s mother. Since there was no one named Ann Madden, Carter felt confident Ann Madden had not been her name in high school. It made sense. If she was in hiding, she could have been using an alias, which would also explain why she never gave her employer her social security number.

  After the first few pages of searching, he’d gone back to the boxes and grabbed a few pictures of Ann. It didn’t help that he’d never met the woman. It was hard enough for Brooke to identify a postage-stamp-sized picture of her own mother. It was nearly impossible for Carter.

  He did his best to help, though, asking lots of questions. “Was her hair always the same length?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it always brown? As far back as you can remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “What color were her eyes?”

  “Brown.”

  Carter stared at Brooke’s profile while she scoured the tiny black-and-white photos. She was a redhead with green eyes. Of course that meant nothing since both characteristics were recessive, but it still gave him pause. It was going to be very disturbing if they found out Brooke had been abducted.

  Brooke grew impatient. “Ugh. I can’t find her. We’re already on the T’s and she’s not in here yet. What if I missed her? Maybe she was blond or something. Maybe this isn’t even her yearbook.” She leaned back and rubbed her temples.

  Carter rubbed her shoulder. “She’s in here. I’m sure of it. There aren’t many more to get through. Let’s finish the rest of the alphabet and then we’ll consider other options.”

  Brooke sighed and bent back toward the book. He scrolled down every page with her, squinting his eyes and glancing at the photos occasionally.

  Suddenly Brooke flinched. “Oh my God,” she murmured, her gaze locked on the page. She slowly set her finger on a picture on the bottom row of the W’s. “That’s her.”

  Carter swung the book closer to him. He leaned in and compared the small black-and-white picture to the photo in his hand. “I think you’re right.” He glanced at the name at the end of the column. “Laurie Wilson.”

  “Laurie Wilson,” she repeated. “I’ve never once heard that name.” Her eyes were glazed over when she lifted her face. “It never occurred to me in my entire life that my mother wasn’t who she said she was. I assumed she had left my father and I had no other family. What if I have family out there somewhere?”

  She jerked the book back in front of her and flipped to the front, tapping the name of the high school. “What if I have family in West Palm Beach?”

  “One way to find out.” Carter grabbed his computer from across the table and dragged it closer. He’d spent a lot of time looking for Ann and Brooke Madden. He hadn’t been searching the correct names.

  Perhaps Brooke wasn’t even her real name.

  His hands were unsteady as he typed in Laurie Wilson and West Palm Beach, Florida. It took just seconds before the screen filled with that name. Every caption was similar: Laurie Ann Wilson…missing child…runaway…seventeen years old…please contact the West Palm Beach police department. The information went on and on, but as soon as they had the gist of it, Brooke stopped talking.

  Carter grabbed her hand as he continued to read several articles, but she was stiff and unmoving. Every time he glanced at her, he found her despondent. Frozen. Unblinking.

  Finally, he copied several key pieces of information into a blank document and shut the computer, he turned to fully face Brooke and pulled her out of her chair and into his lap. “We have answers. This is a good thing.”

  She didn’t respond.

  He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the couch where they could sit more comfortably. “Baby, talk to me.”

  She fisted his shirt in her hand, but she didn’t say a word.

  After several minutes, he did the only thing he thought might work—he slid her to the floor in front of him and settled her on her knees.

  She immediately pulled her shoulders back and clasped her hands behind her back. It was almost scary how easily she submitted to him. He would never let her go in a million years. No one else would know how to handle her. So much damage could happen to someone like her in the wrong hands.

  He stroked her hair back, but let her keep her face cast downward. “Talk to me, Brooke. What are you thinking?”

  She hesitated, but finally she spoke. “My entire life is a lie.”

  He couldn’t argue the point, but he would at least try to come up with possible bright scenarios. “She might have had a good reason for running away. We won’t know until we do some more research.” Given how young Laurie Wilson would have been, he felt confident she had run away pregnant. It was unlikely a teenager would have abducted a baby.

  “What if she didn’t run away? What if my father kidnapped her?”

  The thought had crossed his mind. Damn, she was sharp for someone so distressed. “It’s possible, but you don’t even remember him.”

  She lifted her gaze, surprising him with her sudden openness. “Maybe he kidnapped her, got her pregnant, and then she ran away from him. That would explain why she kept me hidden.”

  He nodded. It was a possibility. “Perhaps, but why didn’t she go back home? Her parents were worried sick.”

  Brooke bit her lip, her brow furrowed in concentration. When her eyes shot wide with excitement, she blurted out another possibility. “Because he could easily find her there again if she went home.”

  Carter was shocked. Brooke was ahead of him. “That makes sense. I wonder how old you were when she escaped, then. Did you say you thought a woman in the building where you lived watched you as a baby?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Thurston.”

  “Does she still live there?”

  “Yes.” Brooke smiled. “Two doors down from my apartment.”

  “I think we need to pay Mrs. Thurston a visit.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead.

  Brooke nodded and then she lowered her face again and leaned against Carter’s thigh.

  He kept one hand in her hair and one on her shoulder, giving her time to process.

  She calmed for a few minutes, and then she squirmed, her agitation growing.

  He applied more pressure to her shoulder. “You okay?”

  She didn’t say anything for a long time, and then she lifted her body, straightened her spine, and pulled her shoulders back again. “I need you to dominate me, Carter.”

  He stiffened slightly. She wasn’t talking about sex.

  “It’s like there’s all this…stuff…inside
me. It’s frustrating. It’s bottled up. Like years of…stuff. It needs release. The only way I know to get that release is from having it beaten out of me.”

  He closed his eyes, pursing his lips, unsure how to handle this situation. “Baby…”

  She flinched. “Please.” Her head tipped back and she met his gaze. “Please, Carter. I need the release. If you won’t do it, I’ll find someone else. But I’d rather it be you.”

  He searched her eyes. “I’m worried about your ability to know what you need. I don’t want to harm you emotionally.”

  She blew out a breath. “Before Faith, I didn’t understand it either. This…this, thing. It’s like a burden I carry. When my mother would hit me…” She paused, and then started again. “It was like my mother had to get the punishment out of her and then she could be a good mom again. If she didn’t purge the need to hit me, she would get angrier and angrier and more withdrawn every day until she finally snapped.”

  Brooke looked past Carter, and then said something that chilled his blood. “When she would start to slide into one of her weird, dark moods, I…” Her voice trailed off.

  Carter waited a bit and then encouraged her to continue. “You what, baby? What did you do?”

  She slid her gaze back to his. “Sometimes I intentionally acted out to get her to punish me so that we could go back to the good times.” A tear slid down her face.

  Carter fought the emotion building up inside him too.

  “I’m a freak.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Who does something like that? What kind of person misbehaves so that they will get beaten?”

  “Baby, you did what you had to do to survive. Everyone copes in their own way.”

  She blinked through tears that kept falling, and then she spoke again as if she hadn’t heard him. “Do you know what kinds of things I had to do to get my mother to punish me?”

  “Tell me.” She needed to get this out of her system.

  She swallowed hard. “It didn’t take much. I could spill something, even water. Or I could forget to bring the mail in from the box downstairs. Or I could leave the lid up on the toilet. Or I could set my dishes in the sink without rinsing them. It was so easy.”