The Purge #2
“You need rest. That was the whole reason we stopped tonight. Hopefully, now that you’ve made this first step forward to purge it, you can accept it for what it was. An incredibly brave act requiring a huge sacrifice.”
He pulled her face out of his chest. She needed to hear this. She needed to understand that what he said was true.
“Painful as tonight was for you, you needed to get this shit out. Not gonna lie, it was hard to hear, but I’m glad you told me.
To know that you trust me enough to do that.
When we get home, my friends and I will do everything we can to help you, whatever that means.
The bulk of them are law enforcement, so they have resources.
And I promise you, I will stay with you to ensure you feel safe and secure.
“You also need to understand, I care about you. I’m pissed as fuck at the situation you were in.
If Guillermo and his army of assholes arrived right now, I’d be tempted to tear each of their heads off with my bare hands.
But never—” His vocal register went lower to try to impress the seriousness of what he said.
“Never at any point in time am I mad at the decisions you made to stay alive, or disgusted with you. I’m proud of you for staying alive. ”
He stroked her hair. “Sleep, Glennon. We’ll be on the move again soon.”
Several minutes passed before her breathy, tired voice reached him. “Thank you, Triumph.”
Sleep for him wouldn’t come. It should have been exhaustive to him, even though he hadn’t experienced it directly. But his mind wouldn’t shut down, so he watched her sleep instead. Each rise and fall of her chest was one breath closer to healing.
She wasn’t doing well right now, but she was a fighter, even if she didn’t believe it.
She felt a great deal of guilt, mostly for things she shouldn’t, but time created distance, and with help, she’d gain a better perspective.
Her self-worth was shit. However, he would make it his goal to give her what she needed. To show her just how worthy she was.
A brief flash of concern pierced him as he thought of the heavy makeout session they’d engaged in. He worried that later she’d feel like he’d taken advantage of her.
But as he thought more about it, he rejected the thought.
It served several purposes. It had released her body’s tension, and now she’d sleep better.
It created a healthy vulnerability that let her share honestly with him.
And it opened doors between them to satisfy the sexual tension that had been slowly brewing.
Now that she was asleep, he could mentally release more of his anger because she wouldn’t witness it. He vowed then and there to never show it to her. She didn’t need to be worrying about him, or worse yet, convince herself that it was directed at her.
He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.
Like Glennon needed to release the power her memories held, Triumph needed to release his rage.
The only way he could do that was the same way he analyzed computer scenarios.
Was it cold? Yes. But it was how he processed.
He’d always been this way, and it was how he did his best work.
First step? Look at the data. The bastard beat her.
Cut her. Used her, and not just for himself.
She was raped, repeatedly, for amusement.
He deserved a torturous ending, and while he would love to be the one to deliver it, that wasn’t really his wheelhouse.
But if the opportunity presented itself?
He knew holding back would be impossible.
Next, what questions did he have that needed analysis? This was where emotion bled back in. What was the greatest concern for Glennon, the most important facet of the whole situation?
Simple. What if she couldn’t move past it? He knew she could. He believed in her strength. But nothing was ever guaranteed. What if… what if she became like Tilly?
Was that what this was? Was she another Tilly? A replacement? Something else to obsess over? He’d vowed not to take on anyone’s trauma again. But there was a difference between taking on someone’s trauma and supporting them through it.
He’d done the former with Tilly. Tried to solve her problems for her.
Carry the burden so she didn’t have to. It had been an emotional response cloaked in dominance, and not what she needed.
Pain was her comfort zone. She knew it, understood it, and it was easier to live in that reality than to work toward one she no longer recognized.
But life was painful. Messy. Complicated. It was unknown, and that was terrifying. If they had been less indulgent with her—had shown her that her life was worth fighting for—maybe she would have been more willing to do the hard work.
Glennon, though, was a fucking powerhouse.
All the shit she went through with her family, her life with Guillermo, and never once did she give up.
Did she struggle? Hell yeah. She was bottled up so tight, Triumph would need to keep tapping away at her shell to shatter it so she’d fucking breathe outside the lines.
While he did that, painful as it would be, he needed to let her break and then support her as she picked up the pieces.
Did he feel badly about it? For about three seconds. He decided to refuse to apologize for it because she was a fighter, and she needed to do it herself. He couldn’t treat her like glass. He could still protect her and be a soft spot to land.
That left his second question—had he created an unhealthy power dynamic as her protector?
There had always been a niggling doubt—a single percent or two—that his CNC kink was harmful. She’d suffered enough abuse to last ten lifetimes. Was he what she needed in her life?
No. His kink was not abuse. Yes, he didn’t play by the typical rules, but his partners had always known the score, and he’d never disrespected a limit.
The subquestion to that? His kink was a part of him he could not ignore.
Could Glennon consent to that type of dynamic?
Both had skirted around the issue. She’d shared her concerns with him about what her choices said about her.
He’d hinted at his interests but never addressed them directly with her.
That needed to happen. It wasn’t fair for him to make a decision in this arena without giving her a say.
That was as bad as ignoring someone’s limits.
Having reached that conclusion, he examined the variables.
Cataloged them. That started with clearing his mind completely.
He worked on breathing in and out slowly.
Starting with his feet, he focused on releasing the tension in each muscle.
It took a while, but by the time he reached the top of his head, he felt better.
Maybe not one hundred percent, but more in control. Less likely to explode.
In his last communication with Tripoli and Francesca, they assured him that everything was progressing smoothly with the plan for the rangers and their friends to meet them in Mexico.
Francesca also reiterated her trust in Chief Hammerling, and she offered him a contact, a retired therapist in Houston, who was willing to work with Glennon through the post-undercover bullshit agents dealt with.
And she would meet with her online as often as needed so she wouldn’t have to travel.
And Francesca offered herself as a shoulder for Glennon. That meant more to Triumph than everything else put together. In that single offer, it showed Glennon was family. She’d never be abandoned again, no matter what happened between him and her.
Finally, a plan of action. It would take roughly twenty-four hours to reach Turbo.
They would make their way to the rendezvous with Wes and his friends.
They’d get her home and settled in. Then he would have a discussion with her.
What did she want? What did she need? How could he provide her with both, if at all, and did she even want him to?
As in any other BDSM relationship, everything lay in the submissive’s hands, and it was his job to play within the rules the sub set.
He felt better now that he’d processed and had a plan. Time to settle in and try to get some sleep, or at least rest.
He slipped down in the bed to lie alongside Glennon.
Should he put his arms around her to offer added security and comfort?
He was divided. On the one hand, he thought she needed it.
Would even welcome it. But he also didn’t want her to wake up disoriented and worry that she was back in Guillermo’s clutches.
After deliberating for several minutes, he decided to trust his instincts. He slid an arm beneath her neck and the other around her waist. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, so he allowed his eyes to close and doze off.
He woke a short time later when a knock came at the door. Then a text came through. The owner of the rooms had dropped off more food for them. However, when he brought the food in that had been left at the door, he saw her eyes open. For the first time, she seemed alert as she woke.
He lay down in the bed, facing her, but propped himself up on one elbow. “You hungry? Jhon brought us some more food. How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
“And mentally?”
“No one is ever promised that everything ends happily ever after. It’s going to take work. Time. But you’re right. I can do it. And I know you’ll be there to support me. You won’t abandon me just because you fulfilled a favor and got me home.”
She finally got it. “That’s right,” he confirmed. “You’re not alone anymore, Glennon. You will never be left behind again.”