by Brandi Evans
"There was grasshopper vodka involved," Raven yelled. She was close to her Sir, but not too close. "I'm not at all sorry."
Maddox thanked god for Raven Malek. She'd given him a laugh when he needed it.
Grasshopper vodka was a code phrase he and Raven used at Restrained Fantasies. She was the club's main bartender, and he'd been the backup. They'd used the phrase when one of them needed time away from bartending duties to indulge in other interests. In other words, Raven and Carter would be late because she'd had one hell of a morning with her Dom.
"Tell her I've got her covered," Maddox said. "And get here when you get here. My plans don't have an exact timeframe. What the hell time is it anyway? I just woke up myself."
"Quarter 'til eleven."
"Fuck." He rarely slept that late. Kat had said she'd slept well by his side, and obviously, that feeling went both ways. "See ya soon."
He clicked off as Kat sauntered in, still wearing that damn T-shirt. The right shoulder was entirely off, showing the distinct outline of her collarbone. She'd lost weight during her abduction, and it wasn't as if she'd had much weight she could lose in the first place. That said, god, she was gorgeous.
"Do we have company, or are you going somewhere?" she asked softly, hesitantly, as if unsure of herself and her place in the world. He'd have to work on that.
"A little of both. Raven and Carter are coming by to stay with you while I run some errands. It shouldn't take me much longer than an hour or so. Two at the max."
She nodded. "Have you heard anything from those agents? I was hoping that was someone calling to say Jeff was in custody."
He set his phone back down. "I was hoping that, too."
"Do you think they'll ever find him?"
"Yes," he said simply.
"I hope so. If they don't, I don't think I'll ever sleep soundly again."
"They'll find him, Kat." If not, Maddox would, and he wouldn't hesitate to put that fucker in the ground.
"Even if they do, do you think I'll ever truly be free of him?" Her voice had gone hesitant and soft again.
He didn't have a quick or straightforward response this time. "I wish I knew the answer to that," he said honestly. "I still remember what it was like when my father used to hit me, but now, those memories are just a part of me. They don't have the same power over me they once did. I imagine, with time and counseling, the same will be true for you."
Well, Christ, he hadn't meant to say that.
Get your fucking head on straight, Westbrook.
She looked as if she wanted to ask about the abuse but was too scared.
"I'm gonna grab a quick shower," he said before she could muster the courage to ask. "Make yourself at home." And like a coward, he retreated to the solitude and safety of his bathroom.
"You made pancakes!"
Katlyn looked up from the battered skillet she'd unearthed in the bowels of the kitchen—and nearly dropped her spatula. Maddox wasn't wearing his "cop clothes". Freshly showered, his hair still damp, he wore a pair of khakis and a simple cotton T-shirt perfectly snug at the shoulders. He'd paired the ensemble with brown ankle boots. He was casual, down-to-earth, and sexy as hell. He looked as tasty as the pile of pancakes she'd laid out for him on the bar.
She tried to cover her sudden surge of desire with humor. "What? No tie? I don't think I've ever seen you without a tie."
"I'm off duty, so no ties for me. I hate the damn things."
"Is that why you always have your top shirt button undone, even with the tie?"
He nodded. "I feel like I'm being strangled."
Strangled…
Suddenly, she wasn't standing in Maddox's kitchen; she was in the one she'd shared with Jeff. She'd just taken the meatloaf from the oven, its aroma mingling with the fresh bread she'd made earlier, when the front door slammed open and something shattered.
Fear shot hot and heavy through her bloodstream. Jeff usually wasn't in a good mood when he got home—or ever really—but this time was bad, so, so, so bad. She hip-checked the oven door closed and bolted for the fridge. She already had Jeff's whiskey poured and chilling in the refrigerator. All she had to do was place two ice cubes in the glass—precisely two. He'd slap her if she got that wrong again.
Drink in hand, she plastered on a smile she prayed wouldn't look as forced as it felt and went to greet her husband—and walked straight into his fists. The blow knocked her backward, and the whiskey flew from her hands. He didn't even say a word as he wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed.
Squeezed.
"Kat? What is it? You're pale."
Maddox stood beside her, but he made no move to touch her. She imagined he hadn't wanted her to feel trapped or boxed in or whatever, but not touching her was the last thing she wanted, especially considering his arms made her feel so safe.
She turned into him, wrapped her arms around his middle, and told him what had happened. His body went taut, and the slow, controlled inhalation and exhalation told her he was pissed but not at her, for her.
When the worst of the shaking abated, he pulled back and studied her. "The emergency doctor in Montana suggested you see a therapist, someone you could talk to about what you went through. I think it would be a good idea."
She nodded. "She suggested the same to me. I just don't know where to start. I don't even know if I have insurance anymore." Oh god, how would she be able to pay for the hospital stay in Montana without insurance?
"Insurance won't matter with the person I have in mind. If I ask her to help, she will. She's not part of the department, but she works with us to help counsel abuse victims and survivors. I almost connected you two last time, but the timing was bad for her. But if you're okay with it now, I'd like to call her and see if she'd be willing to come here and meet with you as we work out what happens next."
She nodded. She needed to talk with someone. She was nervous about that, but she was even more worried about something else he'd said.
"Maddox…" She looked at the ground, afraid of the answer he'd give to her next question. "What is happening next? We haven't talked about it." She prayed he wasn't thinking about sending her away again.
"It's… complicated, Kat." He stepped around her and scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm not ready for you to go running around the city by yourself, but I also don't want you to feel like you're a prisoner here, either."
Relief was quick and powerful. He wasn't sending her away! He was worried she felt trapped here. Of all the things for him to worry about!
She did her best to assure him and try to lighten his mood. "I could never feel like a prisoner with you, Maddox. I want you to know that. Never in a million years could I imagine you doing something as terrible as chaining me naked to a bed and holding me against my will."
He flinched as if she'd punched him in the balls, and she cursed herself. She'd been trying for levity and had failed miserably. She was out of practice when it came to conversation.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "That was inappropriate. I—"
"You have nothing to apologize for." But he looked past her and into the kitchen. "So, pancakes, huh?"
She nodded, letting him change the subject without objection and, with a smile, handed him the plate of pancakes and the cup of coffee she'd fixed when she'd heard the shower turn off. "Here ya go. A splash of cream and way too much sugar, just the way you like it."
He smiled warmly as he took the mug and the plate, but she wasn't sure if his smile was because he was pleased or surprised she'd remembered how he took his coffee.
"Thank you, Kat. You didn't have to make me breakfast, but I'm not going to complain. The pancakes smell incredible. I didn't even know I had pancake mix in my cabinets."
"You didn't." She placed a warmed ramekin of syrup on the island where he'd set his plate and then returned to her mixing bowl. The batter was getting a little thick, so she thinned it by folding in a touch more milk. "But you had flour, sugar, baking powder, sal
t, milk, butter, and eggs, everything I needed to whip this together."
He stopped pouring the syrup and stared at her as if she'd sprouted a second head. "You made homemade pancakes? As in from scratch?"
"Yes. They're not really that hard."
A look of pure jubilation covered his face, and he bit in. "Oh my god, this is heaven." He mumbled the complement through a full mouth.
Smiling as he continued making "yummy noises", she ladled out more batter into the skillet. "Jeff said the pre-made kind tasted like cardboard and forced me to make them from scratch. Of course, then he told me mine tasted like moldy cardboard, but he kept making me make them."
"These do not taste like cardboard," he said through another bite. "Also, he's an asshat."
She wouldn't argue Maddox's latter point. "I actually enjoy cooking. I'd watch all the cooking shows I could find, trying to get better, hoping against hope I could make it through one dinner without getting slapped for being an inadequate cook."
He said nothing.
Finished ladling the batter, she grabbed her coffee, turned to him, and realized why he hadn't responded. "Dear god, you're already finished?"
Grinning, he rubbed his "food baby" and, with the same gusto, devoured most of the next batch, too, save for the two she'd managed to snag before he could get his hands on them.
Raven had brought clothes, bags and bags of clothes.
Katlyn couldn't believe it. She fought back a fresh wave of tears as she stared at the piles of jeans, tops, dresses, and unopened bags of socks and underwear. She felt ridiculous for crying again. She had to stop doing that all the damn time, but when cruelty had been all she'd known for so long, kindness overwhelmed her.
Aside from the undergarments, the clothes were secondhand, but none looked too worse for wear. Gently worn, Katlyn mused. The kind of clothes anyone would pull from their closet, confident in the knowledge the threads had plenty of wear left. Most brands she recognized—DKNY, Tommy Hilfiger, Calvin Klein—but she'd never been able to afford them. Even secondhand, they were nicer than anything she'd been able to afford.
"I can't believe you did this." Katlyn picked up a purple maxi dress and fell in love at first sight. She fingered the delicate embroidery along the scoop-necked bodice. A pattern of floral swirls decorated delicate shoulder straps. The chiffon material was pleated below the bodice, "gathering" the skirt. An under-layer of material fell to mid-thigh while a second layer—the same color but sheer as lace—flowed to the ground.
"It truly wasn't a problem," Raven said, waving Katlyn off before taking a sip of her coffee. "A friend of mine has recently put on some weight—much to her intense delight—and decided to clean out her closet. Most of this was on its way to Goodwill before I snagged them."
"Happy to put on weight?" Katlyn needed to put on weight, too, so, of course, that had piqued her interest.
"She had cancer several years back, and the chemo did a number on her. She kicked cancer's ass, though, and she's proceeded to live her best life."
Another woman with a tragic past who survived and ended up happy. Katlyn took solace in that, letting the idea bolster the hope she kept trying to tamp. Raven came through trauma, as did her friend. Why couldn't Katlyn be the same? Why couldn't she find a way to be happy on the other side.
Katlyn hugged the purple dress to her chest like a newborn baby. "I want to try everything on!"
"Then do it! It's just us girls here. Well, and Carter, but he won't care. College football has his attention. Oh, I almost forgot. B-R-B." She sat her mug on the dresser and then dashed out of the room.
Katlyn rummaged through the piles. She had so much to choose from! Jeans, tanks, dress shirts, skirts, T-shirts, shorts—she had an entire department store in here! Well, a small department store anyway.
Raven returned with a couple of Walgreens sacks. "I wasn't sure what kind of skincare or hair care routine you used, so I just grabbed a bunch of travel-size bottles to get you started. Figured we could go out and do some proper shopping once you're settled and stuff." Raven dumped the bag's contents on the dresser, creating a sea of lotions, creams, hair sprays, foundations, serums, and even fingernail polish bottles.
"Oh my god, Raven…" The tears were back, pressing against the backs of Katlyn's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She wouldn't keep crying over every damn thing. She wouldn't! "This is… is too much. All of this. I can't even—" She turned to her friend—because, yes, she most certainly considered this tattooed beauty her friend. "Thank you."
"I'm glad to do it. Besides, I know what it's like to have nothing. I wish I'd have had me as a friend when I'd almost been homeless."
"Homeless?"
Raven laughed. "It's a long story. How about you get showered and dressed, and I'll tell you about it over lunch."
From the living room, Carter let loose a string of expletives about a running back who couldn't hold onto the ball unless it was fucking glued to his goddamn hands. He was so adorable.
Raven rolled her eyes, all smiles. "My nearly-being-homeless story is also the story about how I got together with that yahoo."
"Then I doubly look forward to it."
When Raven left, Katlyn sat on the edge of the bed and gave in to the tears—just for a few moments, she told herself. She needed to get the excess emotion out of her system. She didn't sob. She didn't weep. She simply cried the happiest tears of her life. She'd had such a shit run of luck, but her luck was starting to turn. Looking around the space, at Maddox's bed filled with her clothes, she reveled in the happy, stupid fantasy of staying in this apartment, in this bed, and in Maddox's life forever.
"What the fuck do you mean, I have to wait to get her back? I'm on my way to Dallas right now!"
Jeff would have strangled Mr. Gordon if the son-of-a-bitch had physically been there. In the end, he had to settle for getting a chokehold on the burner phone.
His server placed his order on the table: bacon cheeseburger with fries. "Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?" She smiled at him. Twenty years or so before, someone might have classified her as pretty, but this one was way past her expiration date. She was as pathetic as everything else in this hole of a restaurant on the outskirts of some fucking town he didn't care to remember the name of.
"You can go away," he said. "If I want you, I'll let you know. Now get!"
She scrammed like a good little bitch.
The voice on the other side of the phone line said, "You will need to wait until the time is more conducive. Mr. Smith does not want to risk cauterizing any part of the network he has constructed over the past decade, especially because you couldn't control your wife, and she got away from you again."
"It's not my fault. It was that fucking cop. You were supposed to take care of him."
"Mr. Smith is not in the habit of killing police officers unless it cannot be helped. Killing them brings too much scrutiny on the organization. Besides, we're beginning to wonder why we should intervene again on your behalf when you haven't done anything for us lately."
Jeff downed the rest of the cheap-shit swill this place pawned off as beer, slammed the mug onto the grimy, probably-hadn't-seen-a-Clorox-wipe-in-a-year tabletop, and fought to rein in his temper. He hadn't worked for Mr. Smith long—yeah, like Smith was the bastard's real name—but he knew how to play this game. Everything was tit for tat. It was an organization built of favors, and he had to pay to play. He preferred payment in cash, but he'd take payment in the form of getting his bitch wife back.
"What's the job?" Jeff asked.
"Go to the Circle-K Hotel in Casper, Wyoming. Ask for room eighteen. You'll find your instructions, as well as all supporting documentation and proper identification in the room waiting for you. When the job's finished, Mr. Harris, send proof, like always, and if you complete the job successfully, we'll help you get your wife back."
Chapter 7
"Sarge, down."
The German Shepherd cocked his head and looked at Maddox
with the brown eyes and the big ears quintessential to his breed but did as instructed.
"Good boy." Maddox bent to give Sarge's head a quick rub.
"He's absolutely adorable," Raven said, looking adorable herself in a pair of ripped jeans, an equally ripped Ramones tank, and her trademark black combat boots. "Can I pet him?"
Maddox motioned toward the dog. "Knock yourself out."
Raven dropped to a knee and offered her hand to Sarge for a quick sniff. Sarge obliged and quizzically cocked his head. Even though he had four legs instead of two, Sarge's eyes were still cops' eyes.
Raven grinned. "I wonder if he smells Buddy on me." Buddy was her and Carter's dog.
"Probably," Carter agreed, grinning. "And then, when we get home, Buddy will smell Sarge on you and think you cheated on him with another dog."
"Ahh, poor Buddy. We'll have to stop somewhere and get him a bone to make up for my transgressions."
Satisfied Raven wasn't a threat, Sarge rolled to his back, and Raven scratched his belly until she'd induced a blissful doggy coma.
Leaving Sarge to his pampering, Maddox stepped beside his partner. He kept his voice low as he spoke, not wanting their conversation to carry to the bedroom, where Kat was still dressing.
"Any trouble while I was gone?" Maddox asked.
"Oh yeah, loads. S.W.A.T. just left. Did I not mention that?"
"A simple, 'No,' would've sufficed, asshole."
Carter grinned and shrugged. "Katlyn and Genny played dress-up a while. My sub also insisted on stopping on the way to pick up a bunch of… let's just call it girl shit and pretend I was paying attention while she was detailing everything we needed to get. I may or may not have zoned out after she started in on concealer."
"Shit, makeup and hair stuff. We should have thought of that."
"And if one of us gave more than five minutes to our skin or hair-care routine, we would have."
"Thank god for Raven then, huh?"
"You have no idea, partner." Carter's expression was part devil and part angel—all Dom.