Irish (Spartan Watchmen MC #2)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

MAKENZIE

T he next morning, to Makenzie’s shock, the snow had melted. Every single flake was gone. Irish asked her if she wanted to go with him to The Watchmen’s compound. It took her less than a second to agree. She wanted to see Irish in his world. Walking into the building, she felt like she was on the set of Sons of Anarchy.

Leather and chrome adorned the inside of the clubhouse, mirroring the style of the men occupying the space. Black leather furniture filled the spaces, with silver chrome looking tables. It was as if she’d been plunked out of reality and placed into the ultimate wide open man cave. Two large pool tables were in the back corner, a large bar with multiple stools were along one wall. Stairs led up to what she assumed were office spaces. Spread out across the room were several seating areas with couches and oversized chairs. On the opposite side of the room were four tables each seating twelve. Behind the dining area were two large swinging doors with a burly man walking through them carrying a large dish of steaming food. She looked inquisitively at Irish.

“That’s Tater.”

“Tater?” She asked.

“Yeah, we all have road names. Most of us were known by our military nicknames and kept those. A few were gifted with new ones. Tater believes every meal needs a potato dish of some sort.”

“It does!” The large man explained cheerfully. “I’m a big fan of spuds.”

Makenzie laughed along with the rest of the room. Clover took off, following Tater to the side bar where he was unloading food.

“Brunch,” Irish said, nodding to the buffet. “On the weekends, Tater lays out a spread and as members come and go, they fill a plate. Clover likes to hang around and catch anything people drop.” As if Clover knew her owner was talking about her, she wagged her tail and accepted the fried potato held out to her by Tater.

It felt good to laugh.

Makenzie couldn’t remember the last time she’d genuinely laughed. Irish led her with a hand on the small of her back, a gesture firm yet protective, guiding her through the clubhouse until they reached a smaller seating area in the back where another woman sat.

“Kylie, this is Makenzie. She’s going to be here for a couple of weeks,” Irish said, introducing her to a beautiful woman sitting in an oversized armchair. She looked oddly familiar, but Makenzie couldn’t place her. “I’m going to grab us some coffee. Be right back.” Irish told her after she sat, turning to head back to where Tater was still placing food.

Makenzie looked closely at Kylie. Where had she seen her? The long-legged woman was poised like a queen, surveying her court, her back to the wall, her front facing the entire clubhouse. She could see every person who came and went from her vantage point.

“Hi, Makenzie,” Kylie greeted, her voice smooth and self-assured. She turned her focus from the coming and going of the room to Makenzie.

“Nice to meet you,” Makenzie replied. “I’m sorry if I’m staring. You look familiar. Have you ever been to the East Coast?”

Kylie's eyes snapped to hers, a flicker of recognition crossing her face. “Wait,” Kylie murmured, her voice barely audible. “Are you 'LittleMak93’?”

Makenzie's throat tightened, the secret part of her identity she used in the shadows of LittleLife threatened to spill into the harsh light of day. Kylie was also on KinkLife, they’d spoken a few times on the boards. She wasn’t a part of the subboard community of LittleLife, though, and likely didn’t know what had occurred over there.

“Please, don't tell Irish,” she whispered urgently, clutching at Kylie's arm. She wasn’t sure what Irish would think of her. After yesterday, she wanted him to see her as an adult, not his best friend’s annoying little sister who followed them around. Her plea was laced with vulnerability, the fear of judgment wrestled with an inexplicable urge to confide in someone who might just understand her hidden desires.

Kylie gently squeezed Makenzie's hand. “Your secret's safe with me. It’s not my place to out you.”

“Thank you,” Makenzie murmured, releasing a deep breath. The surrounding air filled her lungs, laced with the scent of oil and leather—so alien, yet now tinged with the faintest hint of safety. The men in the room, large and several covered in tattoos, might seem scary to other people, but Makenzie recognized the military service threading through the ink, and how the men stood and walked. On the walls, the large American and POW flags showed a sense of pride and patriotism. A variety of special forces’ insignia were also hung as decor. She felt safe here with these men.

Kylie leaned in closer to Makenzie, as if making sure they couldn’t be overheard. “Exploring who we are—it's a journey, not a crime,” she said, her words soft but firm. “I understand not wanting the entire world to know, but I promise you, in here,” she moved her hands to show the room, “you are safe. We are a kink friendly group. All of us are members of the local BDSM club, The Citadel, owned by my good friend Jay.”

“ All of you?”

“All of us.” Makenzie understood the trust Kylie was placing in her. In a way, she was outing everyone in the room, although she didn’t say what roles they played in their lifestyles or even if they were active participants, just telling her they were all members of the BDSM club would be frowned upon in a lot of circles. “I only tell you this because I know everyone in the club intimately and know they wouldn’t mind me telling you. I would never betray anyone’s trust. They would want you to feel safe here. Why don’t you come to The Citadel with me later this week or there’s a submissive coffee once a week at Day it was the friendship with other Littles. Having people I could talk to and hang out with who didn’t think I was perverted or bad for loving the escape being a Little gave me. I craved all of it.”

Irish appeared beside her and handed her not only a mug of coffee but a plate with some delicious looking baked goods on it. “You craved all of what?”

“Being one of the boys when I was little. I was just telling Kylie how I knew you before you were Irish,” Makenzie teased, feeling slightly guilty for lying. “I was about to tell Kylie about the senior prank day you and Sean?—”

“Don’t you dare,” Irish warned. “I don’t need her thinking of me as a scrawny teen with pimples on my face.”

“You have never been scrawny. You skipped right over that phase. He had six pack abs at ten!” Makenzie countered.

“Hey Irish, got a second?” An older man called from across the room, interrupting them.

“That’s Lucky,” Kylie inserted, “Club President.”

Irish glanced apologetically at Makenzie. “You two okay?”

“We were having a great conversation,” Kylie said. “Go.”

“No more talking about my teenage self. Or my childhood self, either!” Irish commanded over his shoulder as he headed toward Lucky.

Once he was out of earshot, Kylie turned back to her. “You read the stories and decided you wanted to try it out yourself? Is that how you ended up on LittleLife?”

“One of my favorite DDLG authors put a link to her KinkLife profile at the end of her book. I joined and within a few weeks, found the LittleLife board. I tried my hand at writing a short, serialized story and it was so fun! A couple of weeks into writing on the board, I met a few other people who identified as Littles and ended up being invited into a group chat with them. After chatting for a bit, we exchanged numbers and talked and texted constantly. Like, several times a day. At first it was wonderful…” She trailed off and closed her eyes remembering.

The first months as their friend had been amazing. She felt like she’d finally found her crew. People who truly accepted her for who she was, who would cheer on her victories and pick her up from her falls. To this day, she sometimes found herself longing for the feelings she’d had in the beginning of the relationship. She never thought adult women would act like middle schoolers.

When she’d first found the boards, it felt like she was the new girl in school. Then, when the most well-known women on it reached out to her, it felt like she’d been invited to sit with the cool girls at lunch. Her life was like a scene from a movie. The cool girls were playing a cruel prank on her. Nice to her face, only to mock her behind her back.

“There’s sadness in your voice… why do I have a feeling this story doesn’t end well?” Kylie asked.

Makenzie shook her head and continued to speak her truth. Something she'd never done to anyone but an anti-kink psychiatrist who believed BDSM was a mental illness. “After months of talking, I flew across the country and met two of the girls in person and they became my besties. In a short time, I was closer to them than anyone I’d ever met. They were great. They challenged me to be a better person. I confessed my secret desires to shake up my mundane life by trying new things, but confessed how I lacked the courage to do so. They helped me to make a plan to try one scary new thing a month. With their help, I was able to be brave and step outside my comfort zone. For a year, I was happy. Truly happy. I felt like I found my people. It was nice to finally feel like I belonged somewhere. I spent most of my life chasing my older brothers and never truly made close friendships. I had friends but nothing like this…” Makenzie stopped again and took a few more drinks of her coffee. It wasn’t the traditional liquid courage, but the warm drink gave her an excuse to pause and catch her breath.

“I know how that feels. When I was in the Army, I never fit in. There weren’t many women in special forces. Only nine percent of special operators are women. Several of my coworkers' spouses thought I wanted to sleep with their husbands. They were jealous when I got to be with them during deployments and they didn’t. They didn’t understand we weren’t sitting around playing pool, we were fighting for our lives. Those women and, even some of the soldiers, thought all female soldiers were either whores or lesbians. There was no in-between. Now, don’t get me wrong, there were a few coworkers I was friends with, but I had to be careful. More careful than my male counterparts. I’ve been betrayed, too. But this is about you and I am interested in your story. I tell you this so you understand I can relate.”

“Thank you for sharing. I understand what you mean. You aren’t relating with me to make it about you, but to share that you can empathize.” Makenzie did the same thing, sharing similar experiences to relate to other people. Everyone had a different communication style, and she wouldn’t judge anyone else who was actively listening for the way they showed they cared.

“Exactly. Sometimes, people think when another person shares a similar experience during a conversation, that they are trying to one up them or make the conversation about them. In reality, it’s how I communicate that I understand what you are saying. I’m not trying to be rude; I’m trying to connect. I have ADD and I know my brain works differently. They didn’t diagnose me until after I left the military, but it’s been eye opening for me. Learning how my brain works has cleared up a lot. Anyway, you were saying the women challenged you to go outside of your safety net.”

“Yeah, they encouraged me to make a list. Then, once a month, I would cross one item off. We’d Facetime when I would try something on my list, and it was like they were there with me. The first month, I went to a BDSM club, the next month I attended a bottom’s support group. Some things on my list were a bit lighthearted. For instance, I had a phobia of pickles. So, one month, I tried a different pickle once a week. Turns out, I liked fried pickles a lot, especially dipped in buttermilk ranch. Unfortunately, now I can’t eat them without thinking of these women. They taught me how to use positive affirmations. I made a vision board forecasting how I was going to move from working my mundane job to working my dream job. With them, I felt I could do these things. Their support gave me the boost I needed…”

“We all need good friends who encourage us to get out and live life,” Kylie said.

“We talked about BDSM and DDLG. I couldn’t decide if I identified as a Little or a Middle, because I’m like a mix of both. Sometimes I love being a Little, and other times, I really want to be a Middle. But Jamie said I couldn’t be both, I had to just pick one or the other. She told me I was a Little and that was that.”

“Who is Jamie? Was she one of your two close friends?” Kylie asked.

“No, Jamie was their friend that they introduced me to. From the start, I felt like she didn’t like me. The others would tell me it was all in my head, that Jamie just had resting bitch face. They convinced me I was paranoid and making things up. I don’t know why I went along with it. She made me so uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to lose my two close friends. I thought if I just put up with her treating me poorly, I can stay friends with them.”

“Oh, man. I hope you know now that no one deserves to be treated poorly, no matter what. You don’t tolerate disrespect and meanness from anyone.” Kylie said, leaning closer and putting her hand on Makenzie’s knee. “It doesn’t matter who they are. Blood related, friends, coworkers, or supervisors. Being treated with respect and dignity is a basic human right.”

Makenzie blinked hard, keeping the tears at bay. No one ever told her she deserved respect before. “I just wanted someone to tell me what to do. I craved a Daddy Dom and didn’t have one. Jamie kind of was the boss of all of us. We called her Miss Bossy Pants behind her back. After she told me I was a Little and only a Little, I bought a stuffy, a coloring book, and some other toys. For the first time in my entire life, I felt like I could be myself. These women understood me. They didn’t judge me for my interests. The happiness I felt…” She paused and took a big bite of the delicious strawberry cream cheese filled crescent. It took her a second to get her emotions in check. Even after all this time, it hurt to talk about the betrayal she’d felt when her best friends turned on her.

“So you were friends with these two girls you liked and the third person in the group was Jamie?”

“Yes. Jamie didn’t like how nice her two best friends were to me. I think she saw me as a fourth wheel, an intruder. She was used to topping these women. What she said, went. She allowed opinions if they agreed with hers. She manipulated them to believe they were being allowed to have a say, but I recognized her tactics. She even disciplined the two women, but I wouldn’t let her discipline me. I don’t swing that way. I don’t judge women on women relationships, whatever makes them happy, but it wasn’t for me.”

“She disciplines them?” Kylie raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, even though they are married, and their husbands don’t know.”

“I am never big on people keeping secrets from their spouses,” Kylie said with a frown.

“Me neither, but they aren’t my spouses. I think lying to your spouse is worse than being honest and getting a divorce. Who wants to live a lie? It’s awful to both the person committing it and the spouse. She tried to discipline me, too, but not like spanking. I wouldn’t allow it. I wouldn’t allow her other punishments, either but, if I didn’t do it, she’d remove me from the chat and forbid the others to talk to me until I did. I missed my friends, so I would just do whatever she said.”

“That’s complete bullshit. She’s controlling and manipulating.” Kylie sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Part of me wants to find this bitch and give her a piece of my mind. I won’t, because I hate drama, but I wish someone would.”

“It isn’t hard to manipulate submissives, most of us crave approval. We want to serve and to submit, thus the name.” Makenzie giggled. “Things got bad when my stories on LittleLife became more popular than hers. She’d been writing them for years and I was a newcomer. Sometimes, she would tell me I was the shiny new toy, and the shine would wear off. We had a writing competition based on likes. When I won the story of the month contest, she became very angry. There were many reasons she told me I won, none because of my writing. In fact, she told me I was the worst writer in the group, and I should stick to accounting. She would fluff up the other two with praise and constantly berate me.”

“Jamie sounds insecure,” Kylie said. “Probably comes across as a know-it-all expert but her work doesn’t bring about the fruits that an expert should be producing. I know the type.”

“Definitely. Mentoring others but if she was so good, why didn’t she ever succeed herself? She started to tell the girls passive aggressive lies about me. She analyzed everything I said and did and turned it all into negativity, even when I never meant it bad. I thought I was safe with them to express my real feelings, but when I did, she would say I wasn’t being supportive or I was a Debbie Downer, or whatever… and she blatantly lied about me.”

“I am so sorry, Makenzie. I can tell how much she hurt you.”

“I didn’t understand. I would tell the girls how much she hurt my feelings and they would justify her actions. They would tell me things like, ‘ That’s just how she is, she didn’t mean it’ or ‘she’s just blunt but if you listen to her, you will grow.’ They constantly devalued my feelings and dismissed them. When they talked to her about it, she always denied it and then she would attack me for calling her out. They called me paranoid more times than I could count.”

“No one should ever feel like their feelings aren’t valid. Your truth always matters. If something happens and you feel bad, you get to express it. Please tell me if I ever hurt your feelings, okay? Sometimes, we need to learn how to communicate in ways that are healthy for everyone involved,” Kylie said softly. “I learned my ADD and PTSD can cause me to react in ways that hurt others. I’m learning how to recognize my triggers and respond appropriately,” Kylie said.

“I appreciate it. Truth be told, I hate confrontation and am incredibly uncomfortable with conflict. I learned to keep my feelings to myself. The continuous telling me I was wrong, and paranoid made me start to believe them. It was all in my head, she was fine, I was the problem. Interestingly enough, Jamie would go to them and complain about me. They didn’t have the same response. Instead of dismissing Jamie’s feelings like they did mine, they would validate her and call, then jump down my throat and accuse me of being awful. Even though she really was taking what I said out of context. When I would try and defend myself, she would turn it back on me every time.”

“I’ve known people like Jamie. She was using deflection as a manipulation tactic. She used your criticism of her, exaggerated it to paint herself as the victim. They deny their part, attack you for defending yourself, and then reverse the story to turn themselves into the victim. Instead of making room for you at the table, they push and push until you fall off the bench. When you have enough and walk away, they’ll tell everyone they invited you and welcomed you with open arms and you turned toxic. They stab you in the back and complain about how you ruined their shirt with your blood. Meanwhile, they have everyone else so entranced, they are more concerned about the stained shirt than the stab wound. If anyone dares to point out the knife sticking out of your back, they claim self-defense, saying they finally had enough. Because they hand pick their victims and treat everyone else good, they follow right along.” Kylie said, her words betraying her own past with women.

“Right. She had to make it look like I was the reason everything happened. Sadly, another LittleLife friend warned me and I didn’t listen. Beth had the same experiences with Jamie. Jamie made up awful lies about her. She went as far as to call Beth’s work and get her fired, exposing her alternative lifestyles to the private preschool she taught at. Jamie could have ruined Beth’s life, but Beth had a supportive husband who helped her through it all.”

“There’s a pattern of behavior, but that isn’t uncommon. I mean, we see that through history with serial killers. When detectives would talk to their neighbors, family, and friends, they would all go on about how great the serial killer was. Narcissists are amazing at convincing everyone they are good people, meanwhile abusing just one person, their main victim,” Kylie said. Makenzie nodded, agreeing.

“There were several people who messaged me after our falling out about their own negative experiences with Jamie, none who would have the courage to say anything to her face. The thing with Jamie is, she spends time making her victim out to be mentally ill and a liar before she pushes them out. She plants the bugs in people’s ears and manipulates them to see things the way she does. She can list everything the person ever did wrong, even though the person didn’t do those things or not the way Jamie said they did. I truly believe some people see her for what she is, but they are either too scared to say anything or like their place in her group too much to cause waves.”

“A classic narcissist. I’m not a psychologist and I know that word is way overused in society, but everything you have said checks off another box.”

“Looking back, I can see everything she did to me, with Beth. She convinced me Beth was a terrible, horrible woman, and I bought it, hook, line and sinker. After I went through it, the guilt became overwhelming. I treated Beth the way these women treat me now, because I fell for Jamie’s lies. If I fell for them, can I blame the others for doing it to me? It’s like women who are surprised when the man they are with cheats on them after he cheated on his wife with her. She convinced me Beth was an awful human being and a liar. If he cheated on his wife with you, he’ll cheat on you with the next girl. If she could convince me that about Beth, why was I surprised when she used the same tactics to convince everyone else the same things about me? I’d barely known her when she gave me a list of women to stay away from, and everyone else agreed. If the entire group agreed, surely they had to be right, even though Beth had never done anything to me personally, I stayed away. I didn’t need that kind of drama in my life. She made it easy for them to all betray me when I left him.”

“Him?” Kylie asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Jamie needed a catalyst to get rid of me, something big that could be the final straw. He was it.” Drawn in by the empathy in Kylie's gaze, Makenzie accepted the silent invitation to share the weight she'd been shouldering alone for far too long. There was something about Kylie which made her trust her to share these secrets. She hadn’t told anyone else about any of this. The betrayal of her friends, the fear of living in an abusive relationship, or how heavy the guilt was upon her shoulders. Guilt for being so stupid. So na?ve in believing anyone would want her, either as a friend, or a girlfriend. She was nothing special… but they’d made her believe, for a short time, she was. Something more than boring old Makenzie.

“Jamie introduced us on LittleLife and I trusted him,” Makenzie said, her voice trembling with the memories. “He was my first power-control dynamic relationship, and my first and only Daddy. At first, things were great. We played together in the chat rooms, talked on the phone, we’d FaceTime, but I never saw him. My camera was on, and he could see me, but I couldn’t see him. He sent me photos, just not of his face. Because he said he was a powerful government employee who needed to remain anonymous. I never allowed myself to think about why he was being anonymous, like perhaps he’s married, or catfishing me, or a bad person. Thinking back, I ignored the red flags because I wanted so badly to be loved and be in a DDLG relationship. He was really popular on the LittleLife boards, the women loved him. If he commented, he received hundreds of likes. The women craved male attention and there weren’t many men. Anytime a negative thought came into my head about his behavior, I rationalized it by thinking I was wrong, because, surely, if he was a bad guy, others would see it too. Exactly the same thing I did with Jamie. All too soon, he took more control than I consented to and violated my hard limits. His guidance turned into manipulation."

Kylie listened, her expression steady, giving Makenzie the courage to continue unraveling the tale of her past—a story where once shiny armor had rusted, and the knight had become the villain. Where the best friends became mean girls.

“He said he'd keep me safe,” Makenzie confessed, a bitter edge slicing through her whispered words. “Instead, he caged me with my own fears, held my trust against me until I was chained to him. He demanded more and more from me, and like an idiot, I listened and obeyed. I didn’t know Jamie was breaking my trust and telling him my secrets. It wasn’t like the abuse was obvious. It was slow and steady until one day, I passed out unconscious at work and they hospitalized me for malnutrition and dehydration. He would punish me by taking away my food and water privileges. Yes, he called eating and drinking a privilege. By then, I was totally under his control, brainwashed entirely. There was so much depravity in him. Dark, nonconsensual depravity.” Her gaze dropped to her lap, hands fidgeting with the hem of her jacket, each word peeling back layers of pain and shame she'd buried deep inside. Hot tears stung at her eyelids. She’d been so damn stupid. She’d trusted him and believed him when he called her names. Degradation wasn’t a kink of hers. He’d abused her emotionally for months until she’d almost died.

“Consent isn’t negotiable,” Kylie said, her tone gentle. “True dominance empowers, it doesn't diminish. It's about lifting you up, not tearing you down.”

Makenzie met Kylie's eyes again, finding an ally where she had expected judgment. “When I turned to my friends and told them everything, I expected support and love. Instead, I got condemnation. They accused me of giving them an ultimatum: him or me. Jamie pounced on me in my most vulnerable situation. She tore apart every word I said, turned the fault on me instead of him. Worse, she convinced my two best friends that I was mentally ill, unstable and a pathological liar. She used my vulnerability to twist a knife in my back. If it was going to be him or me, they’d pick him.”

“They just believed her?”

“Honestly, there’s no end to her games. She thrives on manipulation and control. She commands her followers, don’t like this person. Don’t talk to that person. This person is a troll. We, myself included, all believed her. We did what she said. Once she got the idea in your mind… I mean, I did that with Beth. I thought she was the person Jamie told me she was because Jamie gave me the evidence to support the claim. Turns out, the screenshots she showed me from Beth were fake. Jamie made a cloned account to look like Beth’s and sent herself messages.”

“She did what, now?” Kylie asked in disbelief.

“She makes a new account using the profile photo and name of the person she is mad at. She has a conversation with herself and screenshots it. Then, she deletes the fake account and convinces everyone, using the screenshots, that the other person did it. It’s genius, really. None of them talk to the other person or if they do, it’s to tell them they’ve seen the screenshots. No one wants to believe Jamie could be that devious. The more Beth argued and defended herself, the more believable Jamie was about her being unhinged. When Jamie showed me the screenshots between her and Beth, I believed her. Why would she fake them? Why would she go that far? It wasn’t until later, after she did the same thing with me, I went and talked to Beth. Beth was gracious and understanding, more than I would have been. Instead of believing Jamie, I should have spoken with Beth, listened to her side. Instead, I did what Jamie told me to and blocked her. If she was mentally unstable and terrible, I didn’t want anything to do with her.”

“She played you. I volunteer at a domestic violence shelter and the way Jamie acts is the way many of the abusers do. They make the abused partner look crazy to the rest of the world, so they don’t believe them when they speak out about the abuse,” Kylie said.

“Exactly. Just like now, I wish people would have had a conversation with me instead of just believing Jamie completely and cutting me out. Even with her, ‘evidence,’ I deserved a conversation. I had broken up with my boyfriend, my Daddy, and when I turned to my friends for comfort, I was blocked by them all. They laughed at me, had lies told about me, he even released a video of me masturbating on command. I’m glad my face isn’t in the video but seeing my intimate video turned into a meme and mocked… I ended up turning into what they called me, mentally ill.”

“Listen to me,” Kylie said very quietly. “Do not tell Irish about this. He will hunt down this bastard and kill him.”

Makenzie laughed lightly. “I’m not kidding, Makenzie. I can tell you with all certainty, the men in this room would ride with him across the country and destroy this bastard.”

The intensity in her words startled Makenzie. She nodded, agreeing. She couldn’t put Irish at risk, especially for her. “Luckily, I got help. The hospital had a psychologist and counselor on staff, and I continued to see them after discharge. At their advice, I left LittleLife and all the connections behind me. I threw away my stuffy, my coloring books. Literally, got rid of all evidence of DDLG and BDSM. Books, movies, toys… all gone.” She could say the words over and over, but her brain didn’t obey her. The thoughts still intruded. The need flowing through her like blood.

“Oh, Makenzie, I am so sorry you went through all of that. They weren’t true friends, and they aren’t good people. I promise you, that Daddy you met online isn’t a Daddy. He wasn’t a real Dominant. That’s not how they act. He was nothing but a wannabe who needed his ego stroked,” Kylie said. “I’d love to spend five minutes alone in a room with him.”

“The hardest part of all this has been how hard it is to trust my instincts anymore. How can I when the people I thought I was safe with were the most dangerous and the lifestyle I thought was full of open-minded good people was full of judgmental, jealous and insecure women?”

“No, Makenzie. First, it wasn’t your fault and second, you had the correct instincts, you ignored them. There’s nothing wrong with your instincts, you just need to follow them when they tell you something is wrong,” Kylie countered.

“After all of that, I went as far away from them as I could. I dated the most vanilla man out there. We got engaged, but something was missing. Even though I’d been hurt so badly, I longed for the power-control relationship like the books I read. A healthy one, a fairy tale with a happily ever after. But now, I don’t trust my instincts or other people at all. I’ve purposely not made new friends in years. Now, I keep to myself. I have acquaintances that I hang out with occasionally, but not anyone I trust enough to be best friends with. I’m terrified of getting hurt again. I don’t belong to any of the websites, go to clubs, or even read books. I can’t think about what I can’t have… it makes me crave it more. It’s like tasting the best, most delicious food in the world and as soon as you’ve enjoyed it, you have a deathly allergic reaction and can never, ever have it again for the rest of your life.”

“But, sweetheart, you aren’t allergic to it. Using your same analogy, it’s like buying a spoiled gallon of milk and deciding that because it smelled bad when you opened it, you would never drink milk again. Instead, you pour out the bad gallon and buy a new, fresh one and you take a big drink. You pour it in your cereal and stir it into your hot chocolate, knowing this one won’t spoil everything it touches.”

“Maybe. But maybe, I’m scared every gallon I buy will be disgusting and I can’t risk getting sick by trying it again.”

“I can see why you would be hesitant. Know this, the bottoms at the submissive coffee aren’t spoiled milk. They are the cream that rises to the top that you make ice cream out of. I’m not sure you make ice cream out of the cream at the top, but you know what I mean. They are the best. These women have had their own challenges and insecurities and survived their own versions of hell. None of us are perfect, but I would trust them. It’s like this place, Grand Ridge, it just pulls in the good, like a magnet and when bad shows up, we all work together to get rid of it. We protect each other. It’s a beautiful thing. Listen, sweetheart, you’re not alone in this. What you’ve been through? It’s rough, but it doesn’t have to define your future. There are good people in the scene, ones who’ll honor and cherish the trust you give. If you are willing to open yourself up, I think the women here could help you heal your broken heart.”

“Maybe,” she whispered. “I’m only here for a couple of weeks, though.”

“So you say.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You can’t see him, but Irish made sure he is standing where he can watch you. He’s not taken his eyes off you. If I had to guess, there’s something more there than friendship.”

“No way. Irish is my older brother’s best friend. Nothing more.”

“Okay.” Kylie raised her hands in mock surrender. “I’ll pretend I don’t see your blush, or the way you both look at each other. All I am saying is, I’d bet you a hundred dollars you will still be here next month.”

“If I am, it’s not because of Irish. It’s because I needed a fresh start and liked the job.”

“Uh huh,” Kylie said. “I’ll keep my, ‘I told you so’ to myself. For now.”