Walk For Me: Club Avalon Book 4

by Kay Elle Parker

  His contacts in Hong Kong, tracking the third couple—the real Dominic and Rita—had gone suspiciously quiet over the past few weeks. Keenly aware of exactly what was at stake, Atticus had already pulled strings to send two of his own men, Isaac and Thomas, into the fray out there.

  Aside from that, he needed to check in with his contacts in Phoenix who were keeping track of the gang Bodie and Alicia’s parents had been in charge of before their demise. He knew there’d been death threats tossed around—most of them aimed at Alicia—and he wanted to know exactly what was stirring under all that animosity.

  Over a year had passed since Abraham and Diane’s deaths. Atticus was well aware that sometimes the passage of time didn’t lessen the drive for revenge, it only made the craving stronger.

  Lathering himself and rinsing away the grime of the day, Atticus let his thoughts drift back to the man Alicia called Elliot. His hands fisted as he recalled the stark look of terror on her drawn face as she worried about transferring from the bed to her chair.

  No one should ever wear that expression.

  His guess was Elliot had been a busy little asshole, terrorizing the rehab residents for sadistic kicks. Men who did shit like that to people who weren’t in a position to defend themselves were low on Atticus’ tolerance scale, and he had no doubt the prick had laid a minefield of triggers in Lisha’s subconscious.

  Shutting off the water, he shook his head, sending droplets flying. This journey with Alicia promised to be complicated enough without power-hungry dickheads derailing her into a goddamn ravine.

  Maybe he should schedule a little chat with Elliot.

  His lips curved into a deadly smile at the thought, and he stepped from the shower to snag a towel with images of the cowardly punk reeling from a dose of his own psychological torture scrolling behind his eyes. Throw in a broken face for good measure, maybe a few fractured fingers…

  As he dried himself off, Atticus glanced at himself in the mirror, stroking his hand over his beard. Despite regular trimming, the damn thing was getting thick and unruly. There was a hell of a lot more silver in it than there had been a year ago. Maybe it was time to think about taking it off completely.

  God, he was too goddamn tired to worry about trivialities right now. He decided that, for once, he would ignore the work still waiting for him and go to bed to get some sleep before day two of Operation Alicia kicked off. He wasn’t entirely convinced she would sleep through the night—a lot of shit had been dragged up over dinner.

  Naked, he padded into his room and slipped under the covers. Belatedly, he realized his phone was in the bathroom in his jeans pocket—and he couldn’t be bothered to get up and retrieve it. His internal clock was set for five a.m. anyway—there shouldn’t be anything pressing requiring his attention in the few short hours between then and now.

  His thoughts veered away to the woman in the next room—was she asleep? Cool enough? Was the mattress soft enough to be comfortable, firm enough to support her spine? Did she need something to cuddle, something for comfort?

  Maybe he should install a monitoring system so he could—ah, fuck, that was just crossing a line, wasn’t it? Listening devices, cameras…they were the first step down the dark rabbit hole called stalking.

  But he disliked not being able to hear her, to sense her.

  Grumbling under his breath, Atticus gave sleep his best shot.

  *

  “Well, this is a first.”

  Atticus bolted upright from a dead sleep, right hand sweeping out to the bedside table for his weapon even as his body primed itself for action. The covers were thrown back, and he launched himself out of bed before his eyes were fully open. It didn’t escape his notice his weapon was not in its usual place.

  “Sweet Jesus,” his friend said with a growl. “Anarchy, cover your goddamn eyes.”

  Atticus’ charge across the room faltered mid-stride. Bewildered, he glared at the white-haired sadist leaning against the doorjamb, and the blonde woman beside him. He ran his hand over his mouth and scowled. “What the hell, Jasper?”

  Archie smirked. “Good morning, Master Atticus. Looking good there.”

  He scrubbed his hands over his face, saying nothing for a moment as Jasper cracked his hand down on his mouthy sub’s ass, then yanked her in front of him and slapped that same palm over her eyes. “I repeat, what the hell, Jasper?”

  Pale blue eyes watched him with concern. “We’ve been calling you for two hours, Att. You missed your seven a.m. video conference with that corporate dick who wants to hire us for some undercover work. No answer on your cell phone, no answer on your home office line, and no goddamn response when we hammered on your door. Throw in this shit with Alicia, and we were slightly alarmed something had happened.”

  Jesus, what fucking time was it? “You’re saying I overslept?”

  “Looks like. Kitten, keep those eyes closed, turn around, and step out of the room. When you’re in the hallway, you can open them again. Go put some coffee on for Atticus.” Smoothly, Jasper guided his amused submissive exactly where he wanted her, then gave her another stinging slap on the ass to get her moving. “Late night, Att?”

  Shit, he had to shake this off. He was slacking for the first time in his goddamn life, on the worst day possible. He should have had Lisha’s breakfast made by now, some guardian he was. Cursing himself, he strode to the drawers and almost ripped the top one clean out of the unit. “On the contrary, an early one. I don’t know why I overslept. Did someone handle the corporate dick?”

  “Yeah, of course we did. I took the call, while Archie ran point and fed me data through an earbud. Honestly, the prick seems shady to me, but he’s willing to pay for the firm’s services.” Jasper scratched idly at his cheek. “We recorded it, and I didn’t confirm one way or another whether we’d take him as a client. I don’t think he was impressed he didn’t get to speak to the legendary Heisler.”

  Atticus pulled on a pair of briefs, shifting his hips at the constriction. Normally, he went commando, but with Alicia under his roof, he needed to be more careful with what he exposed. “I’ll deal with him. Thanks.” Sliding his friend a look, he jerked his head toward the bathroom. “Mind grabbing my phone from in there, J? I need to check on Alicia.”

  The sadist cleared his throat. “She’s fine. Archie already poked her head in next door and Alicia’s still sleeping.” He pushed himself off the jamb and meandered to the bathroom. “Hurry up and get dressed before my kitten comes back. I need to ask you a favor before she eavesdrops.”

  “A favor? What kind of favor?”

  “The kind you’re good at,” Jasper called back.

  Deciding on a casual Saturday, Atticus chose a pair of black jeans and a T-shirt that claimed he was Top Dog. “Favors I’m good at are usually ones where I fuck someone up—in one of two ways. Which is it, Jasper?”

  Walking out of the bathroom, his friend tossed the phone at him, then sighed. “This stays between us. You’re the only one I trust enough to ask to consider doing this, Att, and I understand if you need time to think it over.”

  Catching the phone, Atticus lifted a brow. “Go on.”

  “A while ago, Archie and I had a conversation. We were talking about CNC scenes, and it’s something she wants to try, along with double penetration. Now we’re engaged, I think if we’re going to do it, it should be soon. Once I’ve said those vows, I’ll be damned if anyone else is getting his hands on her—friend or not.”

  Well, that was unexpected. He rubbed the bridge of his nose slowly, studying Jasper’s face. “So, what do you need me for? The consensual non-consent scene, or the two-on-one?”

  “Both. I’m planning the one scene, with both elements.”

  “Well fuck, J. She’s one hundred percent on board with this?”

  “I keep throwing tidbits her way, gauging her interest without promising anything. We’ll have a proper discussion on it when I know your decision. She’s keen,” he said slowly, “and she gets arous
ed by the idea, but we both understand that fantasies aren’t all they’re cracked up to be in reality. I want the best person for this, Atticus, and that’s you.”

  Well, double fuck. CNC wasn’t his type of scene, usually. He had a soft spot for the little blonde, no doubt, and if this was what she really wanted, he would give it his full consideration. “Plan it out down to the fine details, Jasper. Have that discussion with her. If I think the scene has merit and it won’t pose her any danger, we’ll go ahead with it.” He tilted his head in question. “What about you? Can you handle it after what Dominic put you through as a kid?”

  Jasper’s face hardened slightly, even as his eyes reflected his internal pain for a few long seconds. “What happened with Leigh was out of my control. I was my parents’ puppet, yanked around by the strings they used to abuse me. We were children, I was…excuses don’t make what happened right, Att, I know that.” He cleared his throat. “Archie is an adult. This will be an informed, consensual choice on her part. Nothing—nothing—like what I was forced to do to Leigh.”

  The therapy sessions were paying off, Att decided. Not enough to make a difference in Jasper’s self-loathing, not yet, but maybe they’d dented his rigid armor. “Not judging you, J. I’m asking if there’s anything inside you doubting your ability to hunt down your sub and fuck her—ostensibly against her will—with another man.”

  “I know my limitations. We can give her the experience without scarring her, and I won’t spiral into a black hole of self-hatred.”

  Atticus shoved his phone into his pocket, then headed for the door. “Once you’ve finalized your plans, sit down and talk with Connie. Make sure your head is firmly in the game.” Opening the door, he gestured for Jasper to go ahead of him. “Go get some coffee, brother. I’ll join you once I look in on Alicia.”

  As his friend slipped past him and strode toward the kitchen, Atticus blew out a quiet breath. What a fucking morning this was turning out to be, and he hadn’t even made it past breakfast yet. He couldn’t imagine what the rest of the day might bring.

  With his luck, it would be nothing but carnage.

  *

  She’d forgotten what it was like to wake in clean sheets. Dry sheets not soiled by her own fluids. She never thought she’d wake snuggled in warmth again.

  After the initial jolt of panic kicked her system into booting up, Alicia relaxed into the sense of safety she felt when her eyes focused on the room, and she understood she was a long way away from the hell of the past few weeks.

  The sun was already up, heralding her first day of freedom, and it was beautiful.

  There was a soft tap on the door before it creaked open slowly. She cringed before she could stop herself, then went limp as Atticus appeared in the doorway. Her exhale was shakier than she liked, but at least it shuddered out quietly instead of erupting on a gasp.

  “Can I come in, princess?”

  “I…” Had anyone ever asked her that? “It’s your house. Your room.”

  “While you’re a guest in my house, it’s your room, Lisha. This is your space, your place. I won’t always ask to come in, but I won’t abuse the privilege.” His mouth curved into an easy smile as he tapped a knuckle against the wood a second time. “May I?”

  Aware she was naked under the covers—she hadn’t been able to find her bag to get anything to sleep in—Alicia eased the covers up under her chin. He’d already seen her body, had his hands all over her in the bath, but that didn’t mean her sense of modesty didn’t apply here. “Okay.”

  “Good girl.”

  The soft praise was like having a hand stroke her from nape to butt. She basked in it, wanting more of it after months of being berated and shouted at by Elliot and his friends. All she’d ever wanted to do was please people—her parents, her sister, Connie—and had failed every time.

  The giant crossed the room in three strides, and he crouched beside the bed, laying a dark lump over her midriff. At her puzzled look, he grinned. “It’s a T-shirt, princess. The clothes you were wearing yesterday aren’t fit for anything but the trash, and the ones in your bag met the same fate. They were damp, moldy.” He gave her hand a gentle pat. “Wear this for now. We’ll get you some new ones.”

  Her fingers drifted over the soft material. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. We have some early morning visitors in the kitchen. I know you’ve met Jasper, but I’m not sure if you’ve had the joy of Anarchy’s company yet.” Those wonderful eyes of his were sympathetic. “Breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes. If you’re up to it, we’ll eat in the kitchen.”

  The T-shirt twisted nervously in her grasp. Company? No, no, she wasn’t ready for that. Nobody should be made to look at her when she was like this. “I-I’m not hungry.”

  “Hungry or not, you’re eating. I won’t allow you to waste away in my home, Alicia. I’d like it, very much, if you’d come out and say hello.”

  It wasn’t a demand. He didn’t shout and rage at her, calling her a selfish, ungrateful whore the way her father had when she wouldn’t fuck one of his junkie clients. Of course, in the end, Abraham hadn’t taken no for an answer for long—he’d made sure she’d never said no to him again.

  Shaking those memories off before they drowned her, Alicia swallowed back nausea. Surely, it was rude to deny a polite request? Hell, it wasn’t even a request—it was a suggestion, like he was coaxing her to come to the decision by her own means. “I can’t. I’m s-sorry,” she whispered, voice cracking. “They won’t understand.”

  “They will, better than you think.” Atticus sighed and laid his hand over hers, stilling the restless movements. Even though his tone was gentle, he couldn’t hide the flash of disappointment in that piercing green gaze, or stop it from shredding her insides. “I won’t pressure you. Not today. I’ll bring you some breakfast.” Reaching into the drawer of the bedside table, he pulled out a slim black remote. “Watch some television, rest. Want me to fluff your pillows?”

  Hesitantly, she took the remote, then glanced around the room as though he was playing a prank on her. There wasn’t a screen in sight. As for the pillow-fluffing…she squeaked when he rose and slipped one thickly muscled forearm beneath her shoulders. The heat of it seared her naked back.

  She gripped his Top Dog shirt with one hand as he carefully eased her upright, then attacked the pillows with his free hand, giving them a shake and forming a support behind her. He slid her up the bed so that when he set her back down, she was propped in a puffy nest of comfort.

  Eyes on her face and not on her exposed breasts, Atticus drew the fallen covers back over her chest. Smiling, he pried the remote from her fingers and pressed a button before giving it back to her.

  On the wall directly opposite her, a section of wall lowered to reveal a huge screen. It flickered to life, bringing up an impressive menu of channels, and Alicia’s jaw dropped open.

  Atticus closed it with a fingertip beneath her chin. “If you need me, just shout. I’ll leave the door open. Think of something fun you’d like to do today, princess. I’ll make it happen.”

  God, he made her heart hurt. Not for the first time, she wished she could go back to when she was ten and not be an idiot. She wished she had the use of her legs, so she could stand in front of him and be worthy of his attention. She wished she was brave enough to talk about her flourishing feelings for him.

  Three littles wishes, and none of them came true.

  His fingers brushed fleetingly over her bristled hair as he stepped back. He didn’t say anything else as he left the room, but as promised, he left the door open in case she called for him.

  The moment he was gone, Alicia wanted to do just that.

  Instead, she played with the novelty of the television. It seemed like forever since she’d had the privilege of technology in her hands, and she flicked through the channels. Reality TV—nope, her reality was shocking enough without adding someone else’s stupidity to it. Hallmark movies—reminders of what she was never goin
g to have, no thanks. She bypassed the crime and court channels, unable to stomach them.

  Finally, after her thumb got tired of pressing the button, Alicia settled on something she thought might be childish, but actually turned out to be quite adult in humor—The Angry Birds Movie.

  Maybe she was half-asleep again by the time Atticus came back into the room with a tray held between his big hands, but she would never admit it. The look he gave the movie and then her was strangely intuitive, as though he saw something she couldn’t.

  “Breakfast time, Alicia.” Despite his size, Atticus moved fluidly, like water through pipes. The muscles beneath his T-shirt bunched and strained every time his arms changed position—he was power personified. He settled the tray over her lap, then eased his hip onto the bed beside hers. “Connie said nothing about you being vegetarian or having any allergies. Saying that,” he added in an almost censorious tone, “you barely eat enough to know if you have food allergies.”

  Eyes heavy, she studied the food he’d brought. Her mouth watered at the sight of the colorful bowl of fruit pieces—apple slices, orange segments, grape halves, strawberry quarters, blueberries—and the two slices of toast, sans crust, with chocolate spread. But her nose wrinkled in disgust when she saw the little bowl of steaming oatmeal.

  “That,” she said, jabbing a finger at it. “I am most definitely allergic to that.”

  Atticus’s dark brow winged up. “Real allergic or you hate oatmeal allergic?”

  She glared at him, finally shaking off the dregs of sleep. “Option number two.” She gave the bowl a sulky little shove, then reached for the chocolatey goodness—only to have Atticus’s calloused fingertips smack lightly on the back of her hand. “Ow.”

  “Good girls eat their oatmeal before their sweet treats,” he rumbled, picking up the spoon as though he hadn’t just spanked her hand. “They need the nourishment, especially when they haven’t been eating the way they should.” He dipped the spoon in the mush, then lifted and blew on it. “Come on, princess, open up.”

  Mulishly, she pressed her lips together and shook her head. She hated oatmeal. She hated the smell, the taste, how it looked. There was nothing in this world that would compel her to take that mouthful of crap—she’d spent weeks living with hunger, she could go a few hours longer.