Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
SIERRA
The bath feels like heaven to my bruises, welts, and aching muscles. I lay, submerged up to my chin in fragrant bubbles, with only the hand holding my very large glass of wine peeking out of the water.
In the comfort and security of my own home, I lean my head back against the bath pillow and allow myself to close my eyes.
Despite what I told the men, I actually had another few days left on my wilderness camping retreat, but there was no way I could stay after all that had happened.
Once they’d dropped me off, fear had ripped through me, and I found I was more scared by the people who had chased me through those woods, than I had been of Gray, Erik and Cain.
So, I’d grabbed my few belongings, which were miraculously still there, abandoned the brand-new tent, and driven home on autopilot in a complete daze.
Then slept for a solid twelve hours straight.
I’m still feeling guilty about the tent, but I was in no fit state to even attempt taking it down. I make a mental note to call the booking agent and tell them… something. Make some excuse, but I’m sure someone can make use of it.
I’m still trying to process everything.
At least I have a couple more days before I have to go back to work, and I’m thankful for that.
I’m going to need them. I’m wrecked, both physically and mentally, and right now, I don’t want anyone asking questions.
I honestly don’t know how I’d answer or what I’d say if anyone were to ask how I enjoyed my break.
Or worse, why I look like a walking advert for some kind of physical abuse.
There are still chafe marks on my wrists and ankles, lash lines all across the backs of my legs, and bruises and bites on my neck and arms. And that’s just the obviously visible stuff.
I took a photo over my shoulder in the mirror since I can’t see my back properly, and I look like I’ve been beaten black and blue.
I guess I have… although it’s not quite computing that way in my head. I figure that’s probably a blessing, all things considered.
After staying in the water until it starts to cool, I reluctantly drag myself out, wrap myself in a long fluffy robe, and pour myself another glass of wine. On the kitchen counter, my eyes drop to the business card I took from Gray’s vehicle, and I pick it up and twirl it in my fingers.
I’ve done my homework already, googling the company on my laptop and checking it out. Finding everything I possibly can about the three men who started it ten years ago before it took off to become a multi-billion corporation.
Gray Carter, Cain Smith, and Erik Evans.
I know their full names now. I know where to find them. If I wanted, I could file a police report…
Except I don’t want to. And yeah, I know there are people who might think I’ve lost my mind by not doing so. People who would insist it’s a classic sign of abuse not to make that complaint.
But I also know they weren’t being deliberately vindictive. No matter how it seemed at the time, they weren’t really kidnapping me and holding me captive.
Well, not intentionally, anyway. I’d long since worked out it was a case of mistaken identity.
And honestly, I didn’t hate it. In fact, I’d kinda loved it once I’d gotten over myself. There was something raw and uninhibited about everything that had transpired, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t indulged in my own fantasies over the years.
I’d checked that out too.
Primal Fantasies.
I remember one of the guys mentioning the name, so I looked at their website, and quite frankly their prices are eye-watering. Ironically, that’s what made me pause when I first considered getting in touch with the guys.
Well, that and the fact I haven’t replaced my phone yet.
They’d paid a lot of money and then hadn’t exactly gotten what they paid for. Had they been disappointed?
It wasn’t like they’d said much before they dropped me off.
But from what I can gather reading through the website, that’s kind of expected.
There are some very strict rules, backed up with stringent penalties and the threat of legal action if clients didn’t adhere to the directives designed to keep all parties safe.
Oh, the irony in that!
But maybe they hadn’t wanted to, either. The whole ‘going home’ thing had equated to little more than an embarrassing morning after walk of shame scenario.
Well, it was for me, anyway, and they hadn’t really done anything to make me feel better.
But the business card… I was pretty certain Cain left it there for me deliberately.
What exactly did that mean?
It’s too much to contemplate all at once. The more I turn things over in my mind, the more confused I get, so I make a promise to myself to just get my life back under control, sit on it for a few days, and then decide where I’m at.
Of course, that’s easier said than done, when my dreams are filled with the three of them.
Erotic memories of all the things they did to me, woven into lucid nocturnal delights that have me climaxing in my sleep and waking up sweaty, and feverish, and desperately missing their unique brand of painful pleasure.
Every morning, I wake up with my body begging for them, and snatch up the business card, thinking I’ll use the damn number on it to contact them… And then common-sense kicks in. The mundane reality of everyday life, and I throw the card back into my bedside drawer.
But what I don’t do is get rid of it. It remains within easy reach, tempting me; intriguing me. Enticing me to dial the number and see where this might go.
Because the truth is, now that I’ve had a week to think, to contemplate, to ruminate, to assess. Time to get a new phone, my life back, to return to work; now I can no longer deny the fact that I miss them.
For some reason, my life suddenly feels like something is missing. What I had previously thought of as contentment, I now perceive as dull.
I have a decent job, my own apartment, a tight friend group, and a fun social life. I’m between relationships, but that didn’t bother me. I’ve never been one to rush into something like that. But the more time passes, the more I feel their loss.
My welts and bruises heal and fade, and for some stupid reason that makes me cry.
What the actual fuck?
But it’s like I’ve lost my final link to them. The last physical evidence of the time we all spent together.
And still that damn business card mocks me.
Which is why, in a moment of weakness, I dial the freaking number.