by Brandi Evans
His Battered Submissive
Restrained Fantasies - Book Three
Brandi Evans
Published by Blushing Books
An Imprint of
ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc.
A Virginia Corporation
977 Seminole Trail #233
Charlottesville, VA 22901
©2020
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The trademark Blushing Books is pending in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Brandi Evans
His Battered Submissive
EBook ISBN: 978-1-64563-433-1
Print ISBN: 978-1-64563-434-8
Audio ISBN: 978-1-64563-435-5
v2
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Brandi Evans
Blushing Books
Blushing Books Newsletter
Acknowledgments
I wanted to say a heartfelt thanks to Tiffany for her input and kind words during this novel's creation. Maddox, Kat, and I give you our gratitude!
Prologue
Six months ago
Katlyn Harris sat across from her husband and contemplated murder.
It wasn't her fault some idiot driver had hit the power line running to their house. It wasn't her fault the temperature was hovering near freezing. It wasn't her fault it was February and the cold had forced them to get a hotel room to keep from freezing. And it most certainly wasn't her fault they were in this stupid restaurant for a meal they couldn't afford.
She'd offered to put something together in the hotel. The room had had a microwave. She could have made something decent for dinner, but Jeff hadn't wanted, as he'd said, "some shitty slop from the goddamn microwave". Then, to drive his point home, he'd slapped her and asked if she was trying to poison him. So yeah, murder sounded better every day.
Her life would be so much better if he were dead. Even if she went to prison for killing him, it would be better than living another day as Jeff Harris' punching bag, but she wasn't brave enough to leave him again.
Now, they were in this steakhouse, and he was complaining about prices. She'd done her best to keep their cost down. She'd ordered iced water and a paltry side salad. He was the one who'd ordered a steak, a loaded baked potato, chocolate lava cake, and three beers. He'd stuffed his stupid face while she'd been starving! He hadn't even let her have one of the free yeast rolls, just told the server to bring out two with his meal.
A man stepped to the side of the table, his back to her. "Congratulations, sir! I'm pleased to inform you that you're our one-hundredth customer this month, and that means a free dinner for you and your guest."
"No crap?" Jeff's eyebrows drew together, and his lips turned upward. He was skeptical but excited.
Please, god, let it be true, anything to lift his mood before we leave, she prayed, even though she wasn't sure she believed in gods anymore. She'd been on the receiving end of Jeff's fists too many times to think anyone watched out for her.
"Absolutely!" the other man continued, voice bubbling with excitement. "As part of your good fortune, we're also throwing in a one-hundred-dollar gift card. If you'd please come with me, we can take care of those pesky details, a little "i" dotting and "t" crossing. Corporate policies and all that. I'm sure you understand."
"Of course." Jeff turned to her, and the smile on his face slithered away. Anger flashed in eyes the same fiery color as his hair. "Don't go anywhere."
"I won't," she said softly. As if she'd try to leave again. She'd learned that lesson the hard way. Three times. The last time she'd tried to leave, he'd tracked her down, and his fists had made a compelling argument as to why she should never do that again.
The moment Jeff and the other man turned a corner and vanished out of sight, she closed her eyes and released the breath she always seemed to be holding. He was gone, and although it would only be for a moment, she would relish every second. She had so little time away from him, so when she had it? Pure ecstasy.
Maybe he would leave for another business trip soon. That would be heaven, even if she had no clue what kind of business trips plumbers went on, but she didn't care. The two-day trip he'd taken to Las Vegas last weekend had been incredible. The bastard had locked her in the basement before leaving, but she'd had food, warmth, a place to sleep, and best of all, forty-eight hours where she hadn't been afraid of being hit.
The scrape of a chair leg over the painted concrete floor had her snapping to attention. If Jeff saw her seated so un-womanly, there'd be hell to pay, but the man folding his tall, lean frame into the chair he'd pulled beside the table wasn't her husband.
Black slacks covered the man's long legs, the perfect accompaniment to his long-sleeved, light gray button-down. His tie was the same color as his pants, but he'd left his collar open. He looked like a man nearing the end of a long day. He might be a little on the rumpled side, but he was still sexy as hell, which was reason enough to get rid of him as quickly as humanly possible.
She opened her mouth to ask him to leave, but the glint of the silver badge clipped to his hip caught her attention. Oh, no. Oh, god. He was a cop! She didn't think she'd ever been more terrified. If Jeff came back and saw her with the police, the beating tonight would be beyond terrible.
"I'm Detective Maddox Westbrook," he said softly. "I'm with the Dallas Police Department's Domestic Abuse Division, and I want to help you."
Domestic abuse? No. No. No, no, no.
"You can't be here," she whispered fiercely. "My husband—"
"Hurts you, and you're terrified of him, especially terrified he might see you with a cop."
Lie. It was her knee-jerk reaction. Lie and get away. She'd learned the routine years ago. Deny everything until the cop left her alone in hell.
"Of course, he doesn't hurt me," she said, hoping against hope she could relay the coolness and absurdity needed to convince him to leave. "He's just had a difficult day at work, and there's this thing with our house. See, some idiot hit a power line, and we have to stay in a motel and—"
She stopped, the rest of the lie dying in her throat. Detective Westbrook hadn't interrupted her rambling response. He sat quietly and listened, his gray-blue eyes kind but unconvinced. She waited for him to say just that, to call out her lie for the bull shit it was, but he surprised her.
"You don't deserve to be treated the way I've seen him treat you tonight," he said gently, "and if you let me, I'd like to help you."
A sob welled up in the back of her throat, but sh
e swallowed it. She wouldn't cry—couldn't cry—not in the middle of the restaurant with Jeff nearby. It was just that she hadn't expected kindness. The detective's words were the first raindrops her dry soul had experienced in far longer than she could remember.
He turned suddenly, took the basket of rolls a server held toward him—not the server who'd waited on her and Jeff—and placed them in front of her. "Eat," the detective instructed. "There's no way you're content with the measly side salad and glass of water you ordered, but I understand why you ordered what you did."
She could try conjuring a new, better lie, but the rolls were right there, all golden and tempting. And they smelled sooo good. And god, she was so, so, so hungry. He'd even made sure the server brought butter and honey and—
Oh, screw it.
She snatched a roll like the starving woman she was. The bread was hot and fresh from the oven. She didn't waste time using a knife; she ripped a piece off, dipped it into the butter, and plopped it into her mouth.
God.
She shoved in another piece. Hell, she inhaled the unexpected gift, and she didn't give the slightest damn if anyone saw her—at least, anyone who wasn't Jeff.
Her gaze shot in the direction he'd disappeared, but he wasn't there.
"Don't worry, your husband's with my partner," the detective said. "I'll know the second he's on his way back."
The man who'd come to the table, was he the detective's partner? She gave the question fair odds. If so, then that meant the pair had worked together with the restaurant to arrange this moment alone with her. Which meant, Jeff couldn't see her, and she instantly relaxed. She realized her mistake one moment too late. No way the detective missed her instant relief. None whatsoever. A man who knew her food and drink order, knew her situation without knowing her, wouldn't miss something so obvious.
She popped another piece of bread into her mouth and swallowed. "Why'd I do it then, order what I did?"
"So, hopefully, he wouldn't complain that you'd ordered too much and run up the bill, only it won't matter. If not this, he'll find something else to complain about. Abusers always do."
She didn't confirm or deny, but he'd hit the nail squarely on the head.
He pulled a receipt from his pocket and placed it on the table. "I don't give out business cards to people living with abusers. I don't want anything that even hints cop, so I've made arrangements with the owner of this bakery. When you're ready, call the number on the bottom of this receipt and ask for the Blue Star Special, and they'll forward the call to me."
She didn't reach for the receipt, but she didn't push it away either.
"If your husband finds this, tell him you won a raffle or clipped a coupon for free cookies from the newspaper. If that happens, all you have to do is go into the shop and ask for the Blue Star Special you ordered, and you'll receive a box of twelve star-shaped cookies. No questions asked. No cost to you."
She stared at the receipt, something shifting and breaking inside her. She realized with terror what was cracking: hopelessness. Was escape possible? She couldn't let herself believe it, but, but, but…
She looked long and hard at the detective, his blue-gray eyes still glued on her, kind and patient. Something about the way he looked at her hammered another crack into that part of her breaking apart. He made her want to believe that freedom from Jeff might be possible, but more than that, she found herself wanting to trust Detective Maddox Westbrook.
"You don't deserve to be treated the way he treats you," he said again, softer than before, as if knowing she needed to hear it again. "And if you let me, I'd like to help you."
She leaned forward and whispered something she'd never told another living soul. "If I try to leave again, he said he'd kill me."
His all-seeing eyes went hot and then steeled into resolve. "Not on my watch."
Chapter 1
Present day
"What the fuck do you mean I'm off the case?"
Detective Maddox Westbrook shot to his feet and toppled the black visitor's chair in his captain's office. No way. No fucking way. He absolutely would not abandon her—no way on god's green earth would he walk away. So long as he had breath in his body, he would never stop looking for Katlyn Harris.
Maddox stared down his captain. Gerald Atkins had been Maddox's commanding officer for five years. A stern man in looks and demeanor, Atkins had been a solid cop before making his transition to captain of the Dallas Police Department's Domestic Abuse Division. Once upon a time, they'd been partners, too. Maddox had never once resented the fact his one-time friend was his boss.
Until now.
"I'm not walking away from her, Captain." Maddox's resolute words echoed off the pale-gray cinderblock walls. "I gave her my word when I rescued her from that shitbag that I'd protect her."
"And you did everything you could to keep your word," Atkins said. "You worked with Warriors for Women to help relocate her. The fact Mrs. Harris went missing after she'd been transferred into their custody isn't on you."
"Like hell it isn't on me!" He'd set every damn one of these dominos tumbling.
Starting with their meeting in the restaurant and culminating in her abduction, he'd played a crucial role in everything. He even had the death of the Warriors for Women operative assigned to guard her on his conscience. Maddox owned it all, and because he owned it, he'd do whatever it took to make amends. Whatever it took, he'd get Kat back—alive hopefully.
"You can't pull me off this case. Kat wouldn't be missing if Carter and I didn't spot her in that restaurant." Maddox pointed at his current partner, Detective Carter Burkes, who sat in the chair to Maddox's right. "We owe her."
"I understand that," Atkins said, "which is why I let you pursue the case long after we lost jurisdiction. Jeff Harris' crimes have crossed multiple state lines. As such, Katlyn Harris belongs to the FBI now."
"Fuck the fucking FBI!" Maddox spun away and stalked as far from Atkins as he could manage, which wasn't far given the box of an office. The feds didn't give a flying fuck about Kat, not the way he and Carter did, even if the fucks they gave weren't the same.
Carter wasn't the one who'd fallen in love with Kat, but he understood the hell Maddox had lived through the past month. Like him, Carter had once fallen for a woman he'd helped liberate from an abusive situation, but unlike Maddox, Carter had forever lost the woman he'd loved when her ex had had her killed. At least, Maddox prayed they didn't have that in common.
"We have a new lead, Captain," Carter interjected, sensing Maddox on the verge of doing or saying something he couldn't take back. "If you'll hear us out, I think you'll agree a little more time is warranted."
Atkins sighed. "Show me what you've got."
Maddox turned as Carter pushed from his seat and placed a black folder on their captain's desk. When he and Carter worked cases, they used color-coded files, and only the direst cases went into black folders. Kat's case was as desperate as they came.
"After Katlyn went missing," said Carter, "we stayed in close contact with Detective Palmer to rundown any property in Jeff Harris' name or in his family's name. Any place he might have conceivably taken Katlyn."
Detective Emily Palmer had been the lead investigator for Katlyn's abduction. She was a keen cop who knew how to use every tool in her toolkit, even if that included two cops outside their jurisdiction. She hadn't given a fuck about jurisdictional games, not when a woman's life hung in the balance.
Maddox took the metaphorical ball from his partner. "We cleared every piece of property we could find and got nothing. We figured Harris must have found someplace without a connection to him, but then last night, the three of us were sharing an after-dinner drink and—"
"Three of us?" asked Atkins.
"Raven, Carter, and I," answered Maddox.
"Oh." Atkins' gaze flicked to Carter, and although brief, a hint of envy reddened the man's cheeks.
Raven Malek was Carter's other half in every way that mattered: girlfriend, soulma
te, and submissive. She was also one of Maddox's closest friends, both before and after she and Carter had hooked up. A couple days ago, she'd surprised Carter by bringing him lunch at the precinct, and well, with her violet-streaked black hair, incredible artwork of body tattoos, and curvy figure, she wasn't the type of girl anyone forgot. Carter was still the envy of the department.
"Anyway, thanks to something Raven said," Maddox continued, "we started calling rural police forces and asking if any of the locals had any extremely remote hunting lodges for rent, especially ones off the grid. We prioritized our search by extending outward from the original crime scene in Oregon in a circular pattern, and we got a hit."
"Where?" Atkins asked.
"This tiny hunting cabin outside Troy, Montana." Maddox tapped the black and white printout of the two-room hunting cabin Troy's chief of police had emailed. "According to the specks, the place has no running water and only a wood-burning fireplace for heat. It's not much more than a glorified tent, but I want to check it out."
Atkins picked up the photo. "And you think Harris took Katlyn here?"
Maddox nodded—then shrugged. "The police chief said a Jay Johnson is currently renting the place. The man supposedly checked in alone, but we all know how easy it would be for Harris to sneak Kat in unseen."
The fucker had been keeping her unseen for a month already, hadn't he?