But adrenaline is coursing through my blood, and I ignore his warning. “You’re here,” I argue. “Adrian’s here. And I have a black belt in Taekwondo, remember?”
He gives me an unhappy look but doesn’t say anything. A knock sounds at the door. “Come in,” Xavier says, his voice as hard as steel.
“What the fuck?” Downing splutters as soon as he sees all three of us in Xavier’s office. “What’s this about, Leforte?”
“This evening,” Xavier says coldly, “I received confirmation that Katya Simonova isn’t staying with you out of her own volition.”
“You asshole, you took her passport,” I snap, my tone incensed. “You kidnapped that poor woman. You’ve been raping her for the last three months.” It feels really good to finally stand up to Raymond. To say the words I never was able to say before. It feels cathartic.
I would have never been able to do this without Brody and Adrian.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Raymond’s eyes dart around the room. “Katya is free to leave anytime.”
“Really?” Xavier looks at Brody. “Your men are on the way with the passport, yes?”
Raymond goes pale. Then he suddenly takes a threatening step toward me. Out of nowhere, a knife appears in his hand. “If you want your precious submissive alive,” he snarls to Brody and Adrian, “You’ll all stay away. Then again Lockhart, your submissives tend to die on you, don’t they?”
Adrian’s face goes deathly white, and my heart stutters with fear. Not because of the knife. Because of the look of agony in Adrian’s eyes.
What have I done?
32
Fiona:
Raymond is in front of me, with a wickedly serrated blade in his hand.
Adrian and Brody are behind me. If they move, he will lunge, and I’ll get slashed. I can feel the wheels turn in their heads as they try to figure out the best way to take down Raymond.
Next time, maybe the club security can search Raymond first?
I don’t take my eyes off the blade. I need to remember to ask Xavier for a bonus. Being knifed should get me some danger pay, right?
Of course, my mind is wandering because I’m trying my absolute best not to freak out. I probably won’t die if the blade cuts me. Adrian and Brody will stop Raymond before he has a chance to attack more than once.
You have a black belt in taekwondo. Use it.
A sudden calm descends over me. My inner voice is right. After Raymond, I doubled-down on my training. I’ve spent hours in the dojang, honing my skills, building my confidence. Now, it’s time to prove it.
I take a step back, then another. “Where do you think you can run to?” Raymond mocks. “Not so brave now, are you, Fiona? What did you call me just now? An asshole?” He smiles without humor. “I’m going to make you pay for that, bitch.”
I don’t think so, Raymond.
If Raymond had a gun, I would have closed in on him to grab the weapon. But with a knife, I need to back up a little and give myself room to fight. I’m not running away; I’m getting in kicking range.
Tension radiates off Adrian and Brody. Their anxiety rolls off them in palpable waves.
Raymond is such a fool. Does he really think he has options in this scenario? If he cuts me, my dominants aren’t going to let him walk out of the room alive.
The first step is to create a distraction. I raise my hands in the air, doing my very best to look helpless. “Put down the knife,” I beg, looking into Raymond’s eyes, not at the blade. I don’t have to fake the tremor in my voice. “It doesn’t have to go down like this.”
The second step is to attack. The voice of my instructor sounds in my ear. Aim for the fingers holding the knife.
My left leg snaps up in a powerful kick I’ve practiced a thousand times in the dojang. I aim for Raymond’s wrist, and I connect with a shuddering impact. Raymond shrieks in pain, and the knife goes flying across the room.
And then Adrian and Brody are on him, and it’s all over. At least, I think it is.
Until I look at Adrian’s face.
Adrian:
I can’t do this.
I thought I could. I hoped I could. But the instant I see the knife in Downing’s hands, the instant Fiona’s life is at risk, I realize I’ve been lying to myself.
I can’t watch another submissive die. I can’t lose another woman I care about.
We head back to our rooms in silence. “Adrian,” Fiona says hesitantly, “are you okay?”
No. I’m not okay. I’m going to break her heart, and mine as well, but I can’t do this again.
We enter my room, and I see the box containing the platinum cuffs I’d bought her. I’d been hopeful that day. Was it only last week? It seems so long ago. The box seems to mock me, and I turn away from it, from her.
Brody clears his throat. “That was unfortunate,” he says, trying to smooth out the situation. “But Fiona’s unharmed, and that’s all that matters, right?”
No. It was my job to keep her safe, and I failed.
I failed Lina. I failed Sandy. And now, the deep pit of self-loathing in my gut tells me that I’ve failed Fiona too.
“I should leave.” Though my heart is breaking into a thousand sharp jagged pieces, my voice is steady. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be prepared to see you in danger, Fiona.”
“Adrian, please…” There’s a trace of tears in her voice.
A good dominant would hold her. Comfort her. Tell her how brave she’d been.
But I can’t.
Brody will make sure she’s okay. He’s picked up the pieces after me before. He’s used to dealing with my fuck-ups.
“I’m sorry,” I say, unable to look at Fiona’s face.
Then I leave.
33
Fiona:
I watch Adrian walk out the door, and a piece of my heart leaves with him. The tears pour down my cheeks, and I can’t stop them from falling. “You warned me,” I whisper to Brody. “You knew this would happen, and I didn’t listen.”
He puts his arm around me and draws me to the bed. The pillows smell like Adrian—a mix of pine, leather, and smoke—and when I breathe in the scent, fresh tears fall. “Shh,” Brody comforts me. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”
I lean against his shoulder and close my eyes. Over and over, I see Adrian’s face when Raymond pulled out his knife. Why had I insisted on staying in Xavier’s office? Brody had warned me just this morning, and I’d been too reckless, too caught up in my own powerful gladness that Raymond was finally being held accountable for his wrongdoings, that I didn’t hear him.
There had been a finality in the way Adrian had left. I know I’ve lost him.
I’ve lost everything.
I get back to Georgetown on Sunday at noon in the same fog of despair. “Give him time,” Brody says to me gently as he drops me off in my apartment. “He’ll come around.”
“Will he?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “I want to say yes,” he says finally. “But I’m not sure.”
“I’ve ruined everything.” Katya’s safe, and Raymond is almost certainly going to be locked up for many years, but even that doesn’t seem to matter. Adrian’s absence is a big, gaping wound.
“Shh.” He kisses my forehead. “Downing drew a knife. Xavier’s security team should have caught it. This isn’t your fault.”
“You asked me to leave,” I murmur, remembering Brody’s words. If Downing’s on his way, you shouldn’t be here. “I thought you were protecting me, but you weren’t. You were protecting Adrian.” I blink away the ever-present tears. “I was too stupid to listen.”
His blue eyes rest on me. “You are who you are, Fiona,” he says. “You’re brave. You have a strong sense of right and wrong. You could have walked away from this situation, but it never even crossed your mind.” He laces his fingers in mine and presses a soft kiss on my lips. “It’s what made me fall in love with you.”
Yesterday,
hearing him say those words to me would have sent me dancing around the room and opening bottles of champagne in wild celebration. Today, all I can see is the Adrian-sized hole in my heart.
“Give it time,” he says again.
He kisses me once more and leaves. The door shuts behind him, and then I’m alone.
34
Adrian:
My phone beeps on Sunday afternoon, and I look at it out of habit. It’s a text from Brody.
Stuart will be outside your front door at six. The plane’s fueled, and it’s going to Vermont. Get on it.
Vermont.
Where it all began.
Where Sandy took a curve just a shade too quickly, lost control and died.
It’s a state I’ve avoided for two years. Brody and I own a cabin there, a small one, not much bigger than the one in Maryland. I haven’t been there since that fateful day. It just sits there, empty and unused, collecting cobwebs and gathering dust. Like my heart.
There’s a car waiting for me when the plane touches down in Burlington, keys in the ignition. Brody can be subtle if he wants, but he hasn’t bothered this time. There’s a small envelope on the passenger seat. I open it, and a key falls out, along with a note.
Adrian, I love you like a brother, but you need to get your head straight. Go to the cabin and confront your fucking demons, and don’t come back to DC until you’re done.
The words are uncharacteristically blunt but do nothing to thaw the cold numbness in my heart.
But he’s right about one thing. I don’t want to be back in DC. In Georgetown, Fiona Clarke works in the same building as me. There are a thousand places to run into her, a thousand places that remind me of her.
The cabin seems as good a place to hide away as any. On auto-pilot, I start the car and drive the ninety-five miles to Killington.
The cabin is spotless, and as a bonus, stocked with food and drink. Brody rarely misses the details. I ignore the food and head to the booze, pouring myself a generous slug of Glenfiddich.
Sitting on my couch, I close my eyes, and I’m yanked back to the past.
“How did she die?” Diane asks, her eyes red and her face blotchy. “Was it quick?”
Brody replies. “It was instantaneous,” he says quietly. “She didn’t suffer.”
Diane smiles faintly. “That’s a blessing. That’s all she wanted, you know.”
“What do you mean?” My voice is harsh with grief, hoarse with too many unshed tears.
“Mom’s battle with cancer… it took a toll on all of us. Sandy took the brunt of it. I was in Japan, and she was the one who drove her to all the chemo appointments. At mom’s funeral, I remember what Sandy said to me. She wanted to live a full life and die without pain.”
I can’t answer.
“She loved the two of you very much,” Diane continues softly. “After mum died, she stopped smiling for a while. You guys made her smile again. When she first told me she was dating two men, I was ready to talk her out of it. I thought she was crazy. Then we all went out to lunch, remember? When you walked through the door, her face lit up, and I knew, right then, that this was it. She would be happy for the rest of her life.”
The rest of her life was too short. Sandy was twenty-seven when she died.
My fault.
I down my drink and pour myself another. The familiar litany of self-loathing runs through me. I should have never suggested the ski-trip. Sandy had been working too hard. I should have guessed that she wasn’t ready for the black diamond slopes.
How could you have known? A voice asks, blunt and brutal. It sounds like Brody. Sandy was on her college ski team. Had her mother not got ill, she might have competed at a professional level. How could you have guessed that this would happen?
I had no way of knowing. I can’t predict the future.
I brace myself for sharp anguish. I wait for the debilitating grief that has been my constant companion for two years.
But today, when I reach for that familiar pain, it doesn’t come. Instead, I see Fiona’s tear-filled face. I see her hands reaching out to me, begging me to stay. I hear her stricken voice. Adrian, please…
One bottle of Scotch isn’t going to cut it tonight.
35
Fiona:
“When was the last time you heard from them?”
It’s five in the evening on Friday. This time last week, I’d been getting ready to leave for Club Ménage, my nerves dancing with excitement, my blood coursing with anticipation.
This Friday, I’m in Avery’s office.
“Adrian walked out of Club Ménage on Saturday night,” I reply dully. “Brody dropped me off on Sunday. I haven’t heard from either of them since then.” My lips twist. “It’s over, Avery. I’ve lost them.” I stare blankly at Avery’s pen. “Or maybe I never really had them. They were always Sandy’s dominants. I was lucky enough to borrow them for a couple of weeks. I should be glad for the time I had.”
She rolls her eyes. “Bollocks.”
She’s so British.
“You’re throwing yourself a grand old pity party, Fiona,” she continues. “Are you enjoying it?”
I stare at her, stung. “What the fuck do you want me to do, Avery? Stalk them the way Raymond stalked me? If they want to find me, they know exactly where I am.”
I take a deep breath and try to cool the sudden flare of anger. “Adrian holds himself responsible for everything that happens to me. But I’m a private investigator, Avery. Sometimes my job is risky. I can’t give it up.”
“Okay.” She writes something on her damn notepad. “Did either of them ask you to give up your job?”
“No.” Even in the heat of the moment, even when Raymond had a knife in his hand, Adrian had never once tried to control me. Brody could have ordered me to leave, and I would have obeyed him. He hadn’t.
They could have forbidden me to go back to Club Ménage. Hell, they could have pulled strings and had Xavier revoke my membership. They hadn’t done either of those things. They’d recognized that I needed to confront Raymond and that I needed to face my fears.
They hadn’t interfered. They’d just been there for me. Offering silent support. Letting me know—always—that I wasn’t alone. They had my back.
Tears prickle at my eyes again. “This thing with Adrian,” I whisper. “It’s a big, gaping wound.”
“Somewhat like your own,” she replies.
I lean forward, rocked to the core. Of course. I’d been wounded when I ran into them. So wounded that I’d hid behind a fountain. I’d kept telling myself I was okay, but I hadn’t been.
Dominants are people too. People who can be hurt. Avery’s right. Sandy’s death is a big, gaping wound in Adrian’s heart.
“I can’t heal this.”
“You don’t need to,” she replies. “They didn’t fix your wound either. They provided support so that you could heal on your own.”
She’s right. I can’t sulk in a corner. I can’t wallow in my grief. I should be there for Adrian, the way he’s always been there for me. “I’m afraid he’ll reject me.” My voice is very small. “What if he tells me to go away?”
“Nothing worthwhile is ever easy, Fiona,” Avery replies soberly. “But, as you’ve learned this last month, admitting you’re afraid is the first and most difficult step. After that, everything is easier.”
36
Brody:
Friday morning, I fly out to Vermont. Adrian’s had a week to sulk, and that’s fucking enough. For two years, I’ve tiptoed around the issue. I’ve hinted that he needs to deal with his demons. I’ve told him over and over again that he had nothing to do with Sandy’s death.
I’m done being subtle and understanding. I don’t care if I have to drag him back to DC, kicking and screaming. Whether he likes it or not, he’s going to listen to reason.
I find Adrian kneeling next to the tree that Sandy had collided into. He looks up as I make my way down the trail. “They rope this path off in summer,” I
point out to him. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“And you are?” he asks dryly. He pulls a weed from the small garden I’ve planted around the tree. Yellow black-eyed Susans jockey with pink coneflowers. The air is scented with the fragrance of lavender. “I didn’t realize you’d done this. It’s beautiful.”
I sit down on the ground. “I scattered Sandy’s ashes here.”
His lips curve into a smile. “She’d have liked that,” he says. “She’d have thought it was funny.”
“Yup. She’d have joked that she was going to spend her afterlife haunting this tree.” I look at Adrian. “What the hell, buddy?”
He shuts his eyes. “I know. I’ve been sitting in the cabin all week, thinking. Confronting my fucking demons, as you so eloquently put it in your note.”
“And?” I pull out a stubborn dandelion from the soil.
“And I can’t predict the future.”
“No shit. Tell me something I don’t know.”
He smiles faintly. “What’s happening in DC?”
“The cops searched Downing’s apartment, and found photos of women being abused.” I don’t want to think about those pictures. “Even if Katya doesn’t press charges, he’s still looking at extended jail time.” I wipe the dirt off my hands. “As we predicted, the senator has disavowed his son.”
“Good. Was Katya able to meet with him? Ask him to intervene in her father’s case?”
I nod. “It’s probably an unfamiliar emotion for him, but Ted Downing’s definitely feeling guilty. I’m not sure he knew how bad things had got with Raymond.” I shrug. “Senator Downing is, above all things, a politician. For the moment, it’s expedient for him to pressure the Russian government for news about the missing journalist.” I try and think of what else is going on. “Oh, Patrick Cohen called. He wants our teams back in Mexico.”
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