Soul Rest: A Knights of the Board Room Novel

by Hill, Joey W.

  “You try anything, this is what you gonna get. You know you’re done, don’t you? Can’t fight me, can you?”

  She shook her head, tears streaming, and he nodded, satisfied. “Okay, show me what you got.”

  She moved to the lingerie drawer. He followed her with the gun, but when she paused, holding on to the dresser and trying to manage the pain of her ribs, her jaw and the nauseating level of terror, he made an impatient noise. “I don’t got all day, bitch. Or maybe I do, if no one coming. We can make this last a good, long time.”

  He backed up to the occasional chair again, did that alpha male, king-on-his-throne sprawl, but his eyes on her were sharp as a raptor’s. “Give me a show, darlin’.”

  She stiffened, an entirely different lance of pain shooting through her heart. She’d rather he call her bitch, cunt, whore. Anything but the endearment she’d come to cherish from Leland’s lips.

  Focus, damn it. She lifted out a pair of thong panties, spreading them between both thumbs so he could see them.

  “Hold them up to you. Yeah, they’re nice and see-through. I could see your cunt through them. Show me more.”

  She showed him a pair of lacy boy shorts he didn’t like as much, then a white delicate pair with lace on the edges. Probably like what Marcie would have been wearing under her dress for Ben. She was going to burn every pair she showed him, every pair his eyes crawled over, even as his attention kept roving up and down her naked body. She could feel every place he’d touched her, inside and out.

  “You got anything more? I like this little fashion show. Gonna have you try them all on, maybe fuck you while wearing a couple. Show me more.”

  She nodded, turned and reached into the drawer for more.

  Closing her hand on the grip of her loaded nine millimeter, she brought it out of the drawer and pivoted toward him in one swift motion.

  Somewhere in a distant, rational place in her brain, she knew she had less than a blink of advantage. She was going up against a killer who already had his gun pointed at her. Though it was resting on the chair arm, her odds were slim and none. But the only thing that mattered was she wasn’t going to bear a moment more of this nightmare.

  She fired. Once, twice, three times. And kept doing it until the slide racked back, telling her the gun was empty. The sound in the small room was deafening, leaving her ears ringing, but as the echoes died away, she realized she’d been screaming as she fired. Moving forward while she shot, watching his body jerk. His gun was on the floor, dropped from his limp fingers.

  There’d been a bare second of surprise in his eyes, where he’d looked like a bewildered teenager. He’d thought he’d beaten her. It had been so hard to wait, to pick up and show him those first few pairs of panties, to see if the “show” would make him relax his guard. She’d watched the gun lower to the chair arm. Then his finger moved, no longer lovingly stroking the trigger. Giving her the only and best chance of survival.

  She felt something trickling down her breast and looked. She had a hole in her right shoulder. She put her fingers up, probed it, swayed on her feet. She was bleeding, but she could breathe, so he hadn’t hit a lung. Okay. Okay. She told herself to think through the haze of shock, the overwhelming desire to collapse.

  Her phone was still in the kitchen. She moved in that direction, the gun hanging limply in her hand. Her hallway had transformed into one of those fun houses where it seemed like the floor was tilting. She held on to the wall as it kept tilting, trying to topple her. She had to get to the phone. It was important. So important. But she was tired. Maybe she’d just stop here.

  She slid down the wall. She was naked. Cold. She should have picked up a robe. Christ, she didn’t want anyone to find her naked, but it didn’t seem as important as it should have been. As she eased down to the carpet, her aching cheek meeting the rough Berber, she closed her eyes. She’d get it later. Leland. She wished Leland was here. She wanted him to be here. Always.

  §

  You’re dragging your ass. Don’t open that laptop,

  he texted. He shook his head, a smile on his face as he imagined her response. She’d probably hunker down and work for a couple hours, just to spite him. Maybe he was being paranoid, but until Dogboy was behind bars, Leland wasn’t going to let her be any place without him that didn’t have a security system. He’d taken a new look at Dogboy’s rap sheet, which began at age eleven with the killing of his neighbor’s dog with a pocketknife. The crime reminded Leland of the glimpse he’d gotten of the kid’s face during the drive-by. He had dead eyes, too far gone to come back.

  Fuck it. He turned his vehicle in the direction of her house. She was at the edge of the District 1 jurisdiction. He was going to go scoop her up and take her to his place himself. Then she wouldn’t have a car and would have to stay there. Yeah, she’d go for that, he was sure. Probably try to kick his balls in his throat and march right down to the bus stop. But he was going to do it anyway.

  He was half way there when the call came in on the radio. “Shots reported in the vicinity of 26 to 29 Newman Way.” Her street, and her address was 27 Newman.

  “Twelve-twenty-five responding.” He barked it into the radio, hit the lights, siren and accelerator as everything seized up inside him. He shouldn’t have let her go alone. Christ, please God. Celeste.

  He arrived in a matter of minutes, though it felt like hours. Two other units were pulling up, Mike and Billy. They’d recognized the address as well and gotten on scene first, probably because they liked the cardiac-arrest lunch at the diner about a mile away. Hell, they all knew her. They’d be the first of a damn army of cops rushing to her aid. And they might all be fucking too late.

  Shoving that away, he was out of the car and headed up onto her porch, Mike with him and Billy only a beat behind, probably reporting they’d arrived and were going in.

  As Mike circled to the back, Leland took out the front door with one kick that busted the door on its cheap hinges and ripped the dead bolt out of the frame. His girl had done what he’d told her, and it hadn’t done a damn bit of good. He went high while Billy went low. He saw her keys and phone sitting on the kitchen counter, on top of a pile of mail. Then he saw her in the hallway, lying there unconscious. Naked.

  “Fucking Christ.” He forced away the cold rage, the fear, and focused on what mattered, clearing the scene. Her living room, piled up with junk, her guestroom which was a second office, just as he’d guessed. Billy checked the closet and Leland came back out of the room as Mike came in through the back door and turned off into her bedroom, the last unchecked room.

  “Clear. Got a body here.”

  He let Billy and Mike handle that issue. Leland was at Celeste’s side, holstering his gun and dropping to a knee beside her. Because he could already tell she was alive, he radioed for an ambulance first thing, but when she tilted her head to look up at him, his heart still damn near jumped ten beats. She had a gunshot in her shoulder that looked like a through and through. Her face was a mess, forehead and cheek cut, jaw and eye swelling up. There was purpling over her ribs and abdomen. He’d beaten her, the motherfucking bastard.

  No, Leland corrected himself fiercely. Dogboy hadn’t beaten her. Because Leland didn’t have to look to know the bastard’s body was lying in that fucking bedroom. She still had the empty gun clasped in her hand. No matter what had happened here, that knowledge would help her deal with the aftermath. Help them both deal with it.

  “Good girl,” he said, putting his hand on her head as lightly as he could, stroking her hair. “That’s my good girl.”

  Her face eased. Yeah, she liked it when he said that to her. He bent down as she said something, then bent down lower, unable to hear her. “What, darlin’?”

  She muttered it again. “What happens when…you try to boss me around. Better remember…that.”

  It was as if someone wrapped their hand around his heart and squeezed it so hard it was in danger of rupturing. He wanted to hold her, wanted to lift her in
his arms, but he didn’t know how badly she was injured. Where was the fucking ambulance? That bruising on her stomach and ribs was what really worried him. She was shivering. He started to look around for whatever was closest, so he wouldn’t have to leave her side, but Mike was already on the same wavelength.

  “Here you go.” The veteran cop had brought a fleece throw out from somewhere, maybe her bed or the couch. Leland draped it over her, tucked it in as much as he could without disturbing her. Her shaking was increasing. Shock, nerves, cold, probably all of the above. Mike pointed toward the empty nine millimeter she was holding. “Bastard has a bunch of holes in him, Leland. Far as I could see, she only missed once. Hit the wall behind him. That is one hell of a woman.”

  “Yeah. She is.” He bent down over her, pressed his lips to her head, put his arms around her to give her as much warmth as he could without aggravating her injuries. “I love you, darlin’. Fucking love you. I’m here.”

  His voice broke. Mike gripped his shoulder, a quick squeeze, then withdrew. Leland heard the sirens of the ambulance and other cops coming. While he stayed crouched over her, his hands on her, letting her know he was there, Mike donned a glove and carefully extricated the gun from her fingers. Distantly, Leland heard Mike tell Billy to stop traipsing all over the crime scene or the detectives would ream their asses. Billy told Mike how the shower curtain was torn, how it appeared Dogboy had jumped her and then figured he’d subdued her enough to have her pulling things out of her lingerie drawer.

  Nobody subdued his girl. Her surrender had to be willing and when it was, there was nothing sweeter than that. But try to boss her around… His lips pulled back in a grim smile. She was right. He’d do well to keep that in mind, but he didn’t think she’d be letting him forget it anytime soon.

  §

  Celeste hated hospitals, but who didn’t? Leland was with her the whole way, and that helped. He was going to step out when the detectives needed to question her, but she refused to let him go, her hand clasped on his. The questions, while seemingly endless, actually were fairly brief. She was just so tired and in pain, the departure of adrenaline telling her she had received a fairly severe ass kicking. Fortunately, X-rays found only a couple cracked ribs and no significant damage from the bullet wound. No bones in her face had been broken, confirming she had an exceptionally hard head, but she wasn’t going to be going to entering any beauty pageants in the immediate future. They used that stitch tape stuff to close up some of the cuts.

  They also kept her overnight for observation and comfortably floating due to the mercifully generous administration of pain meds. Even with those though, Dogboy kept coming into her dreams, making her start out of sleep like a jumpy cat. But Leland was there, every time, sitting in her line of sight in the guest chair. Sometimes he was reading a magazine, sometimes watching the TV, sometimes dozing a little, arms crossed over his broad chest, legs stretched out and ankles crossed. Most of the time his eyes were on her like a guardian angel, and she lost herself in their golden-brown depths, sliding back into slumber again.

  Toward dawn she couldn’t stand that nervous yank out of a sound sleep anymore. She didn’t care that the meds were wearing off and everything throbbed. She slipped out of the bed and toddled over to him. She’d had to wear that ridiculous gown that supposedly wrapped over the back but everyone knew never did. At least they’d allowed her underwear. When she’d been so carefully specific about what kind she wanted brought from her house, not really sure she wanted anything from her underwear drawer at all, he’d understood.

  She’d been drifting in and out, so she had no idea who he’d dispatched so that he wouldn’t have to leave her side, but when she surfaced, he had a brand-new package of Hanes in her size, a three pack with pretty pink, lavender and light-green colors. It was the first time tears had threatened and, as she fumbled to get the package open, the dam broke entirely.

  He sat down on the bed next to her, wrapped his arms around her and held her close, as gentle as he always was, but so strong, so solid. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “It’s okay. You beat him, darlin’. He’s gone. And I’m so proud of you.”

  Another man might have railed about not being there, to assuage pointless guilt. She expected he was pissed about that, because any man of worth would be. But whether it was because he’d seen countless victims, or because it was simply the kind of man he was, he’d set that aside. He’d known what she needed to hear, what was more important. When the tears eased up, he opened the package for her, asked her gravely what color she wanted to wear, and then helped her into the lavender, his hands warm and soothing on her body.

  “Did Billy bring these for me? You know he has a thing for me.”

  His lips had twitched, though his eyes remained serious. “One of the hospital volunteers went to the corner drugstore and bought them for me. Otherwise Mike would have probably beaten Billy to it. They all have a thing for you, darlin’.”

  Sweet humor, mild reproof, all the things she needed to hear to remind her life was going to keep going, and it was going to be all right. He was here.

  So now, as she moved toward him unsteadily in the predawn light, she wasn’t surprised he woke. His surprise was replaced immediately by concern as he straightened, reached for her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Coming to you.” She stopped between his knees, holding on to him, swaying. “I want to sit in your lap. I want you to hold me. I don’t care if it’s uncomfortable.” She expected every joint to protest. But she needed her Master more than she needed physical comfort. Dreams of Dogboy wouldn’t dare follow her if she was being held in Sergeant Leland Keller’s arms.

  The benefit of modern hospital rooms was that the guest chair tended to be a recliner, allowing a caregiver a more comfortable sleep. Though it was still undersized for a man Leland’s size, he made it work. He eased her into his lap, taking it slow as he cupped a hand beneath her knees, helped her draw them up, guiding her to lie back into the curve of his other arm as he reclined the chair. She dropped her head on his shoulder with a little sigh, face tucked under his chin. She clasped the fingers he had wrapped over her side and crossed her arms over her chest, forming a comforting ball around his hand as she succumbed to sleep again.

  Leland stroked her hair, her neck, the line of her shoulder. Each time she’d started out of her sleep, he’d gone to her, held her hands or touched her face until she fell asleep again. While he didn’t want to cause her any discomfort, he had to agree with her that this was much more preferable. He cherished the chance to hold her fully in his arms, have her in his lap.

  He’d been humbled and gratified by how she’d looked to him for reassurance throughout everything. She hadn’t let him leave while the doctor examined her, so Leland knew Dogboy hadn’t raped her, though he’d had his hands on her, in her. When he heard that, the surge of anger he felt had been so strong he’d wanted to shoot the piece of shit nine more times, but he’d reined back the reaction at the doctor’s sharp look. Even Celeste’s desires might be overridden if the doc thought he was interfering with her care. But Celeste herself had dispelled his anger and the doctor’s worries. Giving Leland a knowing look despite her abused face, she’d tightened her fingers on his where they were locked together on the padded examining table.

  “He can’t be any deader than he already is,” she said dryly, despite a crack in her voice.

  He resisted the desire to hold her tighter now. He knew she had to be hurting, even with the pain drugs. If he could figure a way to reach the nurse’s button without waking her, he might ask for some more for her.

  “I want to go home as soon as they clear me this morning,” she said sleepily. Her fingers slipped up to his neck, touching him in a light, drifting way.

  “Do you want to stay at my place a few days?”

  She shook her head. “Would you stay with me at mine?”

  His brow creased. “Anything, darlin’. But are you sure you want to be there?
”

  She tipped her head back to look at him. “It’s my house,” she said resolutely. “I hate cleaning, but I’m going to clean every inch of it, throw out that chair and everything in my lingerie drawer. I may want to wear cotton undies like these for a while. Not sure I can…”

  She stopped, swallowing noisily. Pushing down that useless rage once more—he’s dead, she beat him—Leland cupped her head, kissed her brow. “You can wear flannel PJs and granny panties for the rest of your life and I’ll still only want you.” He tipped her chin. “You know you can talk to me about any of it, Celeste, right?”

  He waited until he had her uncertain nod before touching that abused jaw as if it were porcelain. Precious porcelain. “That said, if you don’t feel comfortable talking it out with me, I think you should talk it out with someone. You remember what I said about when one of us has to kill someone in the line of duty? Dogboy deserved it, but taking a life comes with a bad after-kick, especially if you’re a civilian and you have what he did to you piled on top of it. Though we like to pretend we’re tough and can handle anything, it can help to talk it out with someone trained to deal with trauma like that. Will you think about doing that for me?”

  “Yeah. Okay. Maybe. But right now, I just need you. All right?”

  “You have me through all of it, darlin’. Just rest now.”

  She pressed her face back into his neck. He felt the tease of her lashes as she closed her eyes. For a while they were silent. He was tired, and was glad the recline setting allowed him to keep holding her without worry that she might tumble. Yet as he dozed, he stayed aware of her every movement, every twitch. As well as the quiet whisper.

  He surfaced, listened to make sure she wasn’t having a nightmare. She wasn’t.

  “Master?”

  “I’m here.” He held her close and she nestled into him, said it again, a reassurance to herself, and maybe to him as well.

  “Master.” That was all.

  §