Master of Freedom: A Mountain Masters Novella (Mountain Masters & Dark Haven Book 5)

by Cherise Sinclair

  “And your father?”

  “He died when I was seven.”

  “I’m sorry.” She stroked the softness of his beard, thinking of his mother. Thirty years alone? “Your mama never remarried?”

  Under her fingers, his jaw turned to granite. “She did. A few years later, her husband got sent to prison for beating the crap out of her. He had a problem with anger.”

  And Atticus still had a problem with him. He was so protective. “I’m sorry. I guess neither of us had much luck with fathers. Mine took off when I was eleven.”

  “Found another woman?” His matter-of-fact tone made it easy to answer.

  “Eventually, I’m sure. But mostly he wanted more than my mother and I could give him.” Her mouth twisted. Her mother had done everything possible to keep him, and so had Gin. Fancy meals, a clean house, bringing him his drinks, his paper. He’d still walked away. “Please, Daddy, I’ll try harder.”

  Atticus’s eyes had softened as he studied her face. “Looks to me like—”

  The phone rang, interrupting him, and he rolled away from her with a grunt of exasperation. After glancing at the display, he accepted the call. “Ware.”

  The caller talked for a minute.

  “Got Gin here,” Atticus said. “Once I return her to Serenity, I’ll meet you at the trailhead.”

  He listened, and a wry grin appeared. “Hell yes, you owe me.” His gaze ran over her, and a dimple appeared as he said clearly, “Sweetest ass I’ve had in my bed in a long, long time.”

  Gin’s mouth fell open.

  After tossing the phone to one side, he rolled, flattening her with his weight.

  “Did you call me…?”

  “A sweet piece of ass? Mmmhmm. And if I didn’t have to leave, I’d tap this piece of ass.”

  His grin said he’d deliberately tried to get a rise out of her. She could read it on his face. For being a ruthless, cynical cop, he had a wicked sense of humor. A giggle escaped as she tried to think of a way to get revenge.

  His kiss wiped out any thought she had left.

  Eventually, he lifted his head, rubbing his bearded jaw against her cheek in a tender gesture. “You are so delightful.” His voice had turned to a low, smoky rasp that melted her insides.

  She wouldn’t call him delightful. More like dominating…and dangerous.

  “I fucking hate to leave you.” His lips curved as he pressed his growing erection against her. “Especially now.”

  “Oh honey, what a shame you’re going to miss out on morning sex.” She tried to appear prim, but he undoubtedly heard the laughter in her voice.

  “Sucks to be me. I’m gonna miss a lot. Morning sex. After-sex snuggling. Shower sex. Breakfast. After-breakfast sex.” His lips curved. “Of course, after that, being as I’m an old man, I’d have a heart attack and be dead before lunch.”

  Old man. Right. He must be all of thirty-something. And not an ounce of fat on the man; he was solid muscle. “Oh my, we can’t have you dying. I’ll have the doctor put you on a low-fat, no-sugar, no-beer, and no-sex diet.”

  “When hell freezes over. Try it and I’ll tan your ass…again.” He nipped her neck and sent quivers straight to her pussy.

  She ran her fingers through the springy hair on his chest. The feel of his rock-hard pectorals made her breathless. Heck, he probably had muscles on his toes. “Where are you headed off to?”

  “Search and Rescue.” He kissed her lightly and slid out of bed. “That was Jake. Some kid ran away from home and into the mountains. Dogs lost the scent with last night’s rain. They were hoping I might spot something.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “That the dogs didn’t?

  “I’m a pretty good tracker.” He put his hands under her arms and pulled her out of bed. “Found you, didn’t I?”

  Chapter Nine

  Feeling a tad bit cranky, Gin sat on the floor in her living room and hugged her dog.

  Three days had passed without any contact from Atticus. Why did it hurt so much when a guy didn’t call soon afterward?

  “So why hasn’t he called? The sex was great.”

  Trigger whined in answer.

  “I don’t like it when you’re logical.” She scowled at him. “Fine. I thought the sex was great. Maybe Atticus didn’t agree.” Atticus was certainly a whole lot more experienced than she was. He hadn’t acted as if he was just being nice, but maybe he’d found her inadequate, despite his compliments.

  Trigger set a big paw on her thigh.

  “No, I have only you for advice right now.” She’d wanted to talk with someone who knew about Doms, but she didn’t know Summer quite well enough to share. Kallie was guiding a wilderness tour off in the hinterlands somewhere.

  Becca was lovely and would undoubtedly help, but her husband, Logan, was purely scary. Wouldn’t it be awful if he stepped in to fix things?

  “Really though, it’s better if things die between me and Atticus.”

  Trigger gave her a disbelieving look.

  “Seriously.” The Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation had rules about interactions with a case’s family members…and she’d broken them. If she saw Atticus again, she’d have to report it to admin.

  Darn prison. She slumped back against the couch. If only the job had been more what she’d hoped for. The work was interesting, true. Although trying to get through all their defenses was difficult, she loved the challenge.

  Her colleagues thought she was funny when she did a happy dance in her office when she succeeded in drawing one out, in helping one move toward health rather than sickness.

  But the conditions were dismal. Although she’d suggested some easy changes, the mental health admin hadn’t been very optimistic. The warden wasn’t interested.

  Well, she’d wait a bit and try again.

  Meantime…she needed to get her butt out of the house. She was always telling her inmates to exercise off their bad moods.

  Leaning forward, she smiled into the big brown eyes of her very own pet. Best listener in the world, even if he was too logical.

  “C’mon, my friend. Let’s have a stroll.” She grinned when Trigger jumped up and woofed his delight. He didn’t mind the backyard, but had let it be known that big dogs like to stretch their legs, especially in the forested area at the end of their street.

  As she stepped out into the twilight, she pulled in a breath of bitingly cold air. Sunset-pink clouds drifted across the sky, but lower over the western mountains, thunderheads built their own dark range.

  “Looks like we’re getting a springtime shower soon. Don’t go too far.”

  Ignoring her, the dog loped away and disappeared into the darkness of the well-canopied forest.

  She smiled. Coming home to all his canine enthusiasm was so, so nice. Her evenings were less solitary with him sprawled over her legs while they watched television…although his conversational interests were a bit limited. And he totally didn’t get how gorgeous Gregory Peck was in The Big Country.

  Why couldn’t she find herself a Gregory Peck?

  Uh-uh. Not yet. No matter how lonely, she wasn’t ready for a man—even a cowboy hero. Not until she’d worked through her small personal problem.

  Following Trigger, she veered off the trail, making her way toward the water glinting through the trees.

  Well, actually, her personal problem was maybe on the larger side.

  How often had she attentively listened to Preston complain about his job. Yet, if she mentioned hers, he had changed the subject or turned on the television.

  All of their interactions had been similar. She’d supported him mentally, emotionally, and physically without receiving anything back. Then, instead of dumping him, she’d tried harder to make it work. To please him.

  Good thing Preston had cheated on her, or she’d still be with him. Dumb, right?

  A master’s degree sure didn’t bestow self`-understanding—although it did help somewhat after a person woke up.

  She’d seen she form
ed the same pattern in all her relationships with men—with her father, a series of boyfriends, and finally her fiancé. With each, she’d worked her ass off to keep him, exactly as her mother had.

  Like an alcoholic with no limits, she’d give and give until she lost all sense of herself. So until she was adjusted enough for healthy attachments, she needed to avoid relationships and serious ties with men.

  Stick to friendly booty sex. That was the ticket.

  A light patter above announced the first raindrops hitting the foliage…then her unprotected head. She shivered, turned, and headed for home.

  Even before she could call, Trigger appeared, trailing her down the tiny animal path she’d been following. No matter how far he went, he never lost her.

  “Typical male,” she scolded as he gently mouthed her fingers in his favorite greeting. “Always running la—” Her voice trailed off as she realized she fed him, watered him, let him on the couch, walked him. Another demanding guy she’d let into her life.

  Then again, he returned her efforts with a heart-warming outpouring of love. So, there really was a balance.

  “Guess you’re different from normal guys because you were neutered. Because you’re not actually a male.”

  He gave her a reproachful look.

  She grinned, imagining Atticus Ware’s expression if she suggested that he get snipped.

  Chapter Ten

  Gin had conducted two awesome group sessions on Friday morning. Her case management paperwork was caught up. Her day had gone so well…until now.

  She studied the inmate sitting across from her desk. He looked like a skinhead version of Frankenstein’s monster. The swastika on the back of his shaved scalp summed up his politics. Holes from his piercings dotted his nostrils, ears, and lips. Yellowing around his left eye lingered from the fight he’d been in a month ago.

  And, much to everyone’s regret, he was out of administrative segregation and back in the general population.

  His gaze roved over her body and increased her discomfort. “If you give me what I need, Slash can be very…generous,” he said.

  He often referred to himself in the third person. She’d heard some BDSM submissives would, but “Slash” used it for pure intimidation.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Cole. I can’t get you an assignment working on the grounds.” More like she wouldn’t. After talking with him, she wouldn’t trust him outside the building walls. From the aura of violence he gave off, she wondered how he’d ended up here in a lower security facility.

  He shifted in the chair, his legs spread widely apart so his dark blue denim pants revealed a jutting erection. “Heard in the yard ’bout a counselor who likes the beasts. A lot.” His gaze held hers as he stroked himself. “Maybe she’s you? You wanna hear ’bout rape an’ murder?”

  “This session is over.” Her stomach twisted. Surely there were no counselors attracted to murderers or sexual offenders. Don’t throw up. Rising, she hit the desk intercom to summon the correctional officer.

  The inmate jumped to his feet, leaned over the desk, and grabbed her right wrist. With his face far too close to hers, he snarled, “Made a mistake, cunt. You don’t fuck with Slash.”

  “Let go of me,” she yelled. Heart hammering, she struggled to free her wrist from the painful grip. Her other hand groped for a weapon. Anything. Her fingers bumped something, latched on—and she hit him across the face with her heavy ceramic coffee cup.

  “Fuck!” He jerked back. “You cunt.” He slammed her forearm down on the edge of the desk.

  Pain exploded in her arm.

  The CO burst into the room. “Hey!”

  Gasping, she sank into her chair and cradled her arm to her chest. It hurt.

  Slash turned to the guard with his hands up. “Sorry, boss. I shouldn’t have yelled at Ms. Virginia. My bad.”

  The CO yanked him away from the desk. “Maggot, if you—”

  “Didn’t do nothin’,” Slash protested. “And I want a new counselor. Fuck, I think this one pissed herself just lookin’ at Slash.”

  “Ms. Virginia, what do you want me to do with him?” the officer asked.

  Averting her face, Gin fought for control. A breath. Another. Her arm roared with pain. Another breath. “He gets a ticket for assault.”

  “You got it.”

  She noticed her coworkers in the doorway and said to the gray-haired receptionist, “Remove Mr. Cole from my caseload, please.”

  “Of course.” As Mrs. Warner started back toward her desk, Penelope said in a too-loud voice. “You can put him on mine. I have room.”

  As the CO escorted the inmate away, Gin looked up.

  Slash was laughing. He’d found the counselor who liked tales of rape and murder. Sickness clung to the back of Gin’s throat.

  “You weren’t prepared for a creep like him, were you?” Mr. Slidell surveyed her from the doorway, his mud-colored eyes disapproving. “I warned you about trusting any of the bastards. Scum. They’re all filth, and you girls don’t have a clue.”

  Girls? Gin let her breath out. “It’s a dangerous job. One big risk is thinking that all the inmates are alike. I’m afraid you boys often fall into that trap.”

  Color rose in his face, and anger compressed his thin lips. Without a word, he stomped into the hall.

  Gin was shaking too violently to enjoy the victory.

  * * * *

  After visiting his brother, Atticus stopped to talk with two correctional officers before leaving the prison. Outside, heat waves shimmered off the concrete and sunlight glimmered on the razor-wired chain link fences. The place gave him a sense of being trapped; he couldn’t imagine what it did to a man after months and years.

  “Any recent problems?” he asked. Any rumors he picked up, he’d pass to Bear Flat’s chief of police.

  This facility reminded him of his high school. Most of the COs were good people, but the warden was an incompetent, venal dick, and laziness tended to slide downhill. The staff needed a good kick in the pants to up their game. From what Sawyer said, the amount of contraband smuggled into the prison was probably greater than marijuana across the Mexican border.

  “We got more level IV convicts sent in again,” one grumbled. “Bastards should be kept in the higher security facilities.”

  “No shit.” Saldana was one of the better COs. “Dumping aggressive prisoners in here increases violence in the general population. Damn overcrowding.”

  “I can see why you’d be concerned,” Atticus said diplomatically. Unfortunately, they hadn’t stepped up security in response. This prison housed special needs inmates—kept here for their own safety—as well as the lower security inmates. The relaxed rules had caused the place to be called a vacation camp.

  The prison staff rarely searched visitors—and it was amazing what a tangle of dreadlocks could conceal—let alone performed routine inmate strip searches. With the overcrowding, the COs were understaffed, outnumbered, and…if they weren’t careful, they’d soon be outgunned.

  Gin shouldn’t be working here.

  He glanced at his watch. Five p.m. She should be leaving about now…the main reason he’d hung around.

  And there she was, across the room, turning in her body alarm and keys, taking back her chit, and signing out. So pretty. Not even her shapeless clothes could disguise her very feminine body beneath. The overhead lights glinted off the red-gold streaks in her auburn hair.

  The sergeant was patting her shoulder, and Atticus smiled. She made friends easily, didn’t she?

  The two officers beside Atticus turned to see what he was looking at.

  “Now there’s one nice piece of ass.” The new one massaged his crotch.

  “She’s a lady, dipshit.” Atticus considered flattening the guy’s balls, but controlled himself…although a growl escaped. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

  The man took a step back.

  Good enough. Atticus nodded at Saldana, who was stifling a smile. “Catch you later.”

 
; “You bet. Take it easy.” Saldana slapped his shoulder.

  Atticus stopped on the pavement outside the building and sucked in the fresh air. A hint of frost. Clean without the stench of anger and violence, of sweat and fear and frustration.

  To the right were the Level II yards, buildings, and pods. Watchtowers broke up the long line of double fencing. To the left was the lower security half. No watchtowers. The yard work inmates with their guard dog CO were raking the debris from the landscaped area. He had to be pleased that Sawyer had made it to that section.

  Atticus watched the door for Gin. He hadn’t wanted to greet her under the eyes of the staff. Most women in prisons tried to avoid being thought of in any sexual context at all, although—as the asshole CO had shown—a woman as pretty as Gin was still assigned the label piece of meat.

  Jesus, he hated that she worked here.

  Leaning a shoulder against the side of the building, he crossed his arms. His body was tired from thin rations, constant travel, and close to a week in the wilderness. Earlier, he’d turned Virgil down on his invitation for a beer at the ClaimJumper and had intended to head home and sack out.

  But, somehow, his truck had turned up the road to the prison. Dammit, his craving for the little submissive wouldn’t quit. Even if she didn’t want to join him tonight, he’d be happy merely talking with her.

  Then again…he did have a nice big bed.

  There she was.

  As she drew closer, he realized every freckle stood out on her pale face. Her arms were wrapped around her torso. Visibly shaking, she didn’t even notice him.

  “Gin,” he called.

  Her startled flinch looked close to panic.

  “Easy.” He kept his voice slow and even. “Easy, girl.” He walked up to her at half-speed to allow her time to recognize him.

  When she did, her shoulders sagged. “Atticus.” She planted her face in his chest.

  “Hey, hey, hey.” He wrapped his arms around her trembling, fine-boned frame and rubbed his chin in her fragrant hair. Fury flooded his veins along with a craving to rip apart whoever had scared her.