Echo of Redemption

by Roxy Harte

  Back Cover Copy

  Is there salvation in truth?

  Kitten is pregnant and torn between the idea of being both mommy and sex slave. With the help of her master, Lord Fyre, she makes the hardest decision of all...infuriating Garret, her second master. This revisits the question: can one woman truly serve two masters?

  Lord Fyre is torn between blood and ménage. When his twin brother arrives shot and strung out, Fyre’s world of bdsm suddenly collides with his past. Disappearing with his twin seems the only answer. But how can the ménage survive if he isn’t there to hold it together?

  Garrett faces uncertainty, knowing he has lost control of Kitten. He knows he must embrace his inner-Dom, known as Lord Ice, if he is ever to come out of the shadow of Lord Fyre and gain full control of Kitten. But is another man the answer?

  The bonds of love and commitment is further tested when Lord Fyre pulls his lovers into his dark and dangerous world of intrigue in this fourth installment of the Chronicles of Surrender series.

  Content Warning: BDSM

  Highlight

  A naked man lies restrained in the middle of our dining room table, not such an unusual circumstance for any particular night but an odd fact given Master is operating on him. Removing bullets to be exact. The man on the table I only just discovered is my lover Thomas’s twin. Almost two years I’ve known him and never once did he believe the information was relevant.

  I’m peeved.

  As much because there are now blood stains on the wood floors as because I feel I know nothing about the two men I call Master.

  “Shouldn’t we call nine-one-one?”

  Did I ask that? God. Oh God. Thomas’s brother is bleeding from more holes in his body than I can count. This isn’t good. This really isn’t good. Though if the strength of the man’s curses is any indication, he’s going to be just fine. But what about the rest of us? Has he led danger straight to our door?

  A scream fills the air and Thomas pushes his brother’s shoulders back down onto the table, even though a dozen straps restrain him. “Hang on, Nikos. He’s almost finished.”

  Nikos. His brother has a name.

  Echo of Redemption

  978-1-61650-149-5

  Copyright © 2010, Roxy Harte

  Edited by Pamela Tyner

  Book design by Brian Hunter

  Cover Art by Renee Rocco

  First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: May, 2010

  Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  17 Ludlow Street

  Staten Island, New York 10312

  http://www.lyricalpress.com

  eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.

  PUBLISHER'S NOTE:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated

  Table of Contents

  Back Cover Copy

  Highlight

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  About Roxy Harte

  About the Chronicles of Surrender Series

  More From Lyrical Press

  Dedication

  For Mom and Dad, I miss you every moment of every day.

  “For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed but my soul.”

  Judy Garland

  Chapter 1

  Kitten

  San Francisco, CA

  January 21

  Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, a man on my left, a man on my right, I have no idea who to look at, so I stare straight ahead. Garrett. Thomas. My men. Known to me as Master and Lord Fyre. Our ménage is still intact. I sigh heavily and both men squeeze a hand. I hadn’t noticed before that they are each holding one of my hands. Across the room, I can see their faces reflected in the darkened floor to ceiling bank of windows, framing the inky night sky. I try to read their expressions, but it is impossible. They aren’t looking at me. They are staring at each other, increasing tension already so thick in the room I could choke on it. I wait for the war to begin imminently. All because I’m pregnant. No, that isn’t the all.

  I tried to tell Thomas first and considered not telling Master. Ever.

  Master saw it as me choosing Thomas over him, but I wasn’t. I was choosing the ménage over a baby. Bloody hell, this is impossible. It certainly doesn’t help that Garrett believes the child is Thomas’s. Every parent wants to see a bit of themselves in their child’s face. Garrett will never have that opportunity. He will look at this child and see Thomas. Every. Single. Time. I am an idiot. I am surprised he is even here.

  Without meaning to, my gaze focuses on the reflected image of Thomas, and I try to imagine him as a child. The thought makes me smirk as I visualize his face beardless, his eyes and mouth younger…younger still. I imagine his long dark hair as short dark curls. Bright pink, pudgy cheeks. I snort, the face I have conjured in my mind could be boy or girl. A beautiful child. Their reflected faces are suddenly looking at me, both demanding answers to unasked questions. I force myself to look at neither and both.

  I am not choosing sides!

  This child could as easily be Garrett’s. An equally beautiful child.

  It is hopeless. I love both men.

  I can’t help remembering the night Master collared me, the same night he bought me at auction. We stood in a storeroom and he was explaining the rules of the member’s only area of Lewd Larry’s, his BDSM nightclub. Feline. Canine. Pet play. It all seemed so foreign, but then the collar closed around my neck and he commanded me to meow.

  “Merroww.” I’d done the best imitation I was capable of doing of Monet, my luxurious Maine-Coon cat, and suddenly everything fell in place for me. I was collared, owned, but I could also be a more base being than my mundane-human counterpart could ever be. Animals have no morality. Animals have no sin. I cried, unashamed, and became Kitten in that
moment. Garrett Lawrence had claimed my heart the instant he became Master.

  But feeling that way, I also feel if Master owns my heart, Lord Fyre owns my soul. I felt it the first time our eyes locked, even though at the time I was comparing him to the one most evil. I felt it then, I still feel it now, every time he looks at me, he sees my darkest needs…and I know his.

  I am no longer collared, a matching brand on each of our left arms makes us each others. In the beginning, our ménage was perfect. We took turns playing with each other but as time has marched on, I think Master has become jealous of the time I spend with Lord Fyre.

  I don’t understand jealousy.

  Garrett has private play dates with Lord Fyre, and I don’t get all moody and sullen. If anything I’m happy for them both because there is a difference in both of them after a scene, one that is hard to explain but I know is a good thing for them because they are so relaxed and happy. Besides, it gives me free time to myself.

  As much as I enjoy being doted on and constantly with my men, a moment alone can be very nice.

  I’m not sure when things changed.

  I used to look forward to Sunday’s Margaritas, Movies, and Mayhem and the relaxed Mondays with Master that followed. More and more often he is working on Mondays, leaving me alone, which makes me long for Tuesday, my day to play with Lord Fyre, which usually leaves me wrung out for days. We’ve never discussed why things are different or how we feel about how things are turning out.

  And now this baby. Holy fuck. It isn’t Garrett’s. I didn’t know that he was infertile when I didn’t tell him about the baby right away. I was under the assumption it could be either man’s equally. I wasn’t really concerned or even interested in knowing which. That wasn’t why I didn’t want to talk to Garrett about it. I was afraid of the repercussion. I was afraid of losing the unconventional, kinky life I live.

  I like being Master’s Kitten. I really like being Lord Fyre’s Sophia.

  I like being the CEO of The Darkness, an alternative lifestyle daily tabloid, and a full partner at Lewd Larry’s.

  I don’t know if I am going to like being Mommy.

  I fear that I am not very maternal. The thought of nursing makes me ill. I cannot even imagine what else goes with motherhood. At my father’s parish, I used to feel sorry for the women being pulled in a dozen different directions by their small children, leaving them no time for self-care. They would drop into the pew like lead weights, obviously relieved they were being given an hour’s reprieve, their children in someone else’s capable hands. I wasn’t that someone, though I tried once, putting in my time at the nursery. Crying, screaming, snot-nosed, poop-covered babies were not my forte.

  “Oh God, I can’t do this.” I look away, avoiding Master’s gaze, wondering if I spoke out loud. If I did, he doesn’t acknowledge my words. I close my eyes, fear wrapping around me. I cannot have this baby. I would be a terrible mother.

  Our gazes meet in the glass. Mine and Thomas’s. He is worried, his face tight with it. As I watch his reflection, I see the slightest easing of tension around his lips, not quite a smile, but enough of a change that I begin to feel that we are going to be all right.

  I still won’t meet Master’s gaze, not even in the reflecting surface of the window. Avoidance? Maybe. Fear? Probably. My arm is freshly scarred from the brand uniting us as a ménage. I won’t give it up.

  Thomas squeezes my hand. “Relax.”

  “How can I?”

  “It’s only a baby, not the end of the world.”

  “It feels like the end of my world.”

  I realize immediately my mistake and that it was the wrong thing to say when Master stands and walks to the window we’ve all been watching each other in. Thomas and I both watch Garrett. He is standing with his back to us, stiff as a board. It is hard to believe we will ever be able to fix any of this.

  I finally manage to look Thomas in the eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  He kisses me. “Whatever for?”

  I gesture chaotically with my hands between us and Garrett. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  He pulls me closer, maneuvering me into his lap. “This is growing pains. Every relationship has them.”

  I whisper, “You aren’t worried?”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  I know we, Thomas and I, will be fine, but will the ménage survive this? I don’t ask. He kisses my eyelids closed just as he does when a scene is about to begin. “Relax.”

  His command is magic, like a drug, medicating me into a peaceful place. I keep my eyes closed, remembering our first encounter, letting it play out in my mind. He’d kissed my eyelids closed, then covered them with a leather blindfold. I was terrified, my back against a wall and I’d had nowhere to go.

  No, that isn’t how it had happened at all. He’d produced the blindfold and lifted the leather to my lips. Just before I’d kissed it the thought went through my head: shouldn’t we discuss this?Limits and safe words and scene parameters? But then I’d kissed the leather, giving him permission to start the scene. My mind had snapped, I’d felt it give, just a little, not like I was going to be insane or enlightened from the event, but snapped enough to know I was free to experience whatever came. It was a slow brain orgasm, a profound epiphany, as every ounce of resistance slid away. Then he’d kissed my eyelids closed and whispered close to my ear as the blindfold covered my eyes. “You know I won’t hurt you. You trust me to keep you safe. Don’t you, Celia?”

  He’d waited for an affirmative response, but I hadn’t been able to manage it because I hadn’t known it to be the truth. He’d wrapped his hand around the back of my neck, raising gooseflesh, raising expectations of pain, but yielded only a gentle massage.

  “I can’t go any further if I don’t have your complete trust, Celia.”

  I’d snapped, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Looking back, I wonder what I was thinking? I’d never been so disrespectful to anyone. Had I somehow been begging him to refuse me? Or had I been trying to bring out his worst? His response had been to laugh, a deep rumbling, fully amused laugh. “That you are. I had forgotten how full of spunk you are.”

  I’d thought, spunk? The notion was laughable. I was the opposite of spunky, whatever that was. I was the one who pleased everyone—I’d always been the good girl. Still, I’d mouthed off, “Look, this is just a test for me. I’m not here to have fun. I’m here to prove something—got it? So skip all the beginner Master-slave relationship bullshit and just tie me up or something!”

  I was so naïve that day, so fucking stupid. I wonder now if I was testing him…or myself. The question never was could he really Master me? Could he help me find my darkness? The real question was did I want him to? Did I really want to face that part of myself and could I live with myself once I did?

  In response to my disrespect, he’d hit me. Square in the middle of my chest. Even after the pain ripped through my sternum, making me feel like several vertebrae had collapsed and I couldn’t breathe, I still couldn’t believe he’d hit me. My knees had buckled, not from the pain but from the full mental impact of what I’d done. I hadn’t just sought out Satan, I’d challenged him to a match of wills. It was our beginning.

  Just remembering I feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

  I still challenge him. Take me to the edge. Take me. Take me. Take me. Life. Death. Walk the fine line between with me. Lord Fyre understands the depth of my need. Pain. In all its glorious manifestations: mental, physical, emotional, or spiritual. Opening my eyes, I see Thomas still looking at me with concern, a fear I don’t understand evident in his eyes.

  Will having a baby change the way Lord Fyre treats me?

  No, I don’t think it will and that gives me hope.

  I hug his face in my hands and pray he sees in my eyes that I trust him still. Mouthing, ‘I love you,’ I kiss him. I angle my head toward Garrett. “Can we have a minute?”

  “That sounds like a very good idea.”

  Giving him a
hopeful but not entirely optimistic look, I leave him to join Garrett at the window. “Master?”

  He looks at me and lets out a long sigh. He’s exhausted. We all are. It’s been a long few weeks and an entirely too emotional day to boot. I can’t remember the last time any of us had any real sleep. He asks softly, “Yes?”

  I have no idea. When I was on the couch, sitting with Thomas, I knew I had to be the one to make things right, but how am I to do that? I walk into him, wrapping him in my arms, even if he is unwilling to be held. Thankfully he doesn’t resist. He hugs me back.

  I don’t say things I don’t mean. There are words frozen on my tongue, sentiments that might make everything better immediately. I’m sorry. Except I’m not, not for any of it. I want this baby. Except I’m still not one hundred percent positive I do. I finally settle on the one thing I can say with my whole heart and all of my soul, whispering, “I love you,” against his neck. When he pulls me tighter against him, I am encouraged to add, “I can’t imagine life without you in it. Please tell me how to make things right.”

  “I wish I knew, Kitten.”

  Kitten. We’re okay then, right? Because if we weren’t okay he would call me Celia. “God, I’m exhausted.”

  He kisses the top of my forehead. “Me too. Do you want to go to bed?”

  I look up into his face, wanting to ask but not asking, the three of us? Because it should be the three of us, shouldn’t it? Even after everything…Eva…the unexpected pregnancy…my deception…it is still the three of us.

  It’s in his eyes he doesn’t feel the same way. He wants to be alone with me. I’ve ended up saying the wrong thing after all. There’s no out except to decline going to bed, and that will make everything so much worse.

  Buzz. Buzz.

  I am saved by the door. God, what time is it? Late? Early? We rarely have unexpected visitors, meaning it can only be one person. She loves Garrett, she loves drama, and last night’s fight at the club had to have piqued her curiosity. I’m only surprised she waited as long as she did. Knowing Enrique the houseboy will answer the door, I look in anticipation, expecting Jackie to sail in.