Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I know, it’s so hard. But it was wonderful seeing the cops push them out of the house in handcuffs.” In the front seat of her car, Ray held the phone to her ear. She’d curled into a ball as if it would help her endure the conversation.
It had been a rough two weeks since the night they rescued Marisol.
The search warrants had come through; the police had searched the men’s houses and found videos of previous assaults.
Law enforcement located and interviewed the other survivors. Like Ray, the women didn’t want to be dragged through months of trials, let alone appeals.
The prosecuting attorney was surprisingly understanding, and although all the processes would undoubtedly drag out for a long time, he thought the perpetrators would accept plea negotiation.
Because a jury trial would probably give them a lifetime in jail, notoriety that would affect their families…
and possibly decrease their chance of surviving prison.
Inmates often targeted prisoners convicted of crimes against women and children. Go, jailhouse justice.
The prosecutor said he had such a strong case, he wouldn’t offer the bastards anything other than a reduced sentence. They’d have to plead guilty to the felonies. Would serve time—a lot of time—and be registered as sexual offenders.
When resourceful Simon provided Ray with the other survivors’ information, she reached out to them.
The women hadn’t been told much more than the “alleged” criminals had been arrested, and Ray shared what had happened.
Because, for her, it’d been so very healing to see her rapists arrested. To know they’d go to jail.
She ended up talking to her sister-survivors. A lot.
On the phone, Celeste burst into choked sobs. “I’m sorry I’m being such a wuss.”
Making comforting sounds, Ray wiped tears from her face. Why is this so hard? Probably because the calls usually ended up with her having her own meltdown sooner or later.
“You’re no wuss, and it’s okay to cry,” Ray said into the phone. “I spent years crying and having panic attacks. It helps me to know the bastards have been identified and will end up behind bars.”
There was a moment of silence.
Then Celeste burst out with a loud, “Yes. It does help. I’m having a tough time now, but eventually, I’m gonna sleep a whole lot better.” There was a pause, then, “Ray, thank you. And please give my thanks to your crew who helped take them down. And bruised them up before the police arrived.”
My crew. Ray smiled. “Our pleasure.”
Celeste half-laughed. “I’ll call y’all The Avengers in my head and hum the theme song whenever I get scared.”
Which meant Ray was grinning as she finished the call.
Sitting up, Ray wiped her wet face and straightened her clothing. The Chains’ parking lot wasn’t where she’d wanted to have this kind of conversation, but when Celeste returned her call, Ray couldn’t refuse to answer. Even though she’d talked to another victim earlier.
Drake wouldn’t be happy with her.
A few days ago, after talking to three women in one day, she’d had a total meltdown and couldn’t sleep. So he put on his Dominant hat; they talked, and she agreed to only one call every couple of days.
He wanted her to be healthy. Happy.
Gods, she loved him so much.
But now she was late in meeting him in the club.
Yikes, he’d already texted. I am way late.
She replied to let him know she’d arrived—and admitted she’d been talking to the last survivor.
He didn’t answer.
Oh, not a good sign.
Unlike Pa, who lost his temper immediately, Drake would wait until he considered the problem from all sides. He’d decide how he felt and what he wanted to happen. His control over himself was awe inspiring and a little scary.
No reply now meant he was…thinking.
A couple of minutes later, she was inside. Time to change into fetwear.
The club’s universal locker room was a cheerful place with rainbow-colored lockers. Above the lockers, wall murals showed various Pride and kink parades.
At a sink in the so-called wet area, she scrubbed her face and…thinking of a comment Drake made, applied mascara and eyeliner and lip gloss. Good enough. Even better, it hid the fact she’d been crying.
In one of the private changing rooms, she pulled out the fetwear she’d bought after getting Alex’s payment for the custom shelving. A Dom’s money should totally go for fetwear, right? Even if he wasn’t her Dom.
She pulled on the dress, exhaled hard, and squirmed to zip up the back.
The dress was made of black wet-look vinyl.
The hem ended thigh-high in front and draped lower in back.
Skintight around the waist. The bra-like bodice was made of see-through lace.
A lace flower was strategically positioned over each nipple—but still didn’t hide much.
No underwear.
Drake’s smile had been wicked when he said he wouldn’t tell her what to wear but reserved the right to tell her what not to wear. She so couldn’t wait for him to run his hands under her skirt to check.
Bad girl, Ray.
A pair of sparkly, silver-sequined, leopard-print ballet flats completed the outfit—cuz heels were a no-go for her.
Finished, she packed up, used a locker to stow her bag, and headed into the club.
Drake smiled at the little submissive tucked against his side. He’d been talking to one of his dungeon monitors when she quietly joined him. A bit on the pale side, eyes slightly reddened, although the makeup covered up any reddening of her eyelids.
She’d been crying.
But she slowly relaxed against him and soon joined the conversation. When her laugh rang out, he knew she’d found her balance. The woman had incredible resilience.
He took his time crossing the room, stopping to speak with different members.
It wasn’t yet time to address the issue of her talking to more than one assault survivor today, let alone doing it in the parking lot where she had no support from anyone.
During each call, she would share each woman’s pain, cry with them, and give them a chance for catharsis. Her kindness and courage awed him.
Eventually, when she looked back to normal…and as if she was thinking she’d escaped the consequences, he stopped.
“Let’s get you a soda or water.” He squeezed her shoulders lightly. “You need fortification for the evening to come.”
She stumbled. “Wait, what?”
Chuckling, he chose a table near the dance floor, snuggled his worried submissive against his side, and fed her some trail mix and apple juice.
As she nibbled and watched the dancers, she answered his questions about her phone conversation. “And that was it. I think she’ll be all right.” She stirred the trail mix with her finger.
“Looking for another chocolate chip? I noticed you ate all of them before starting on the nuts.”
“Well, duh.”
Yes, he really did love this woman. Grinning, he lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “Since you’re finished, it’s time for the dungeon.”
“Uh…right.” She rose slowly, her muscles tense.
Ah, very nice. He did enjoy seeing a submissive beginning to worry about what an unhappy Dom might have planned for her.
He was displeased, and he did have plans. Actually, more for her sake than the sake of discipline.
After more than one call, she often ended up with anxiety and nightmares. With too many voices playing in her head and feeling too many emotions.
Tonight he’d do his best to ensure her head—and her emotions—were emptied out.
Even if she had to sleep on her side for a few nights.
“Come, ma chérie.” Smiling, Master Drake bent and kissed Ray’s forehead. But somehow, his affection didn’t calm her nerves at all.
Because he was leading her straight to the stairs. No postponement for me.
Dammit!
With each step down into the dungeon, her anxiety rose, like a giant balloon inside her, pressing on her stomach, compressing her lungs.
At the foot of the stairs, he stopped. “Aralia.”
What was he planning?
“Aralia.”
“Oh, right, yes, Sir?”
“Did I mention how delightful your dress is?” His dark gaze swept over her, head to toes, so very warm. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you.”
“However, since you were disobedient earlier, I must ascertain if you have been defiant in other ways.”
“What?”
His lips tilted up. “Did you remember you are not permitted underwear in the dungeon?” Before she could answer, he put an arm around her waist and drew her close. His other hand slid under her short skirt and between her thighs before cupping her pussy. “Ah, very good.”
His warm, calloused palm stayed pressed against her bare pubes.
At the foot of the stairs, in plain sight of everyone, he had his hand under her skirt. She felt her face heating, turning red.
His cheek creased with a smile. “For someone who enjoys being taken in front of others, you are remarkably modest.” He tapped her cheek, smiling slightly. “Pink is a good color on you.”
Whap, whap, whap. In a mesmerizingly rhythmic fashion, the flogger struck Ray’s back like pattering rain.
A while back, the floor beneath her bare feet had turned all soft and mushy.
Or was she soft and mushy? It was good her arms were secured over her head since she was turning into a melted ice cream puddle
Her thoughts kept drifting away. Except for…
Something hit her back differently. Master Drake had switched to his mean, stinging flogger. It hurt. “Owwww.”
With his whole body, he pressed against her from behind, his clothing cool against her hot, tenderized skin. Arms around her, he squeezed her breasts and murmured in her ear. “You’re being punished so you remember to keep your promises or call me right away if you cannot.”
Oh, right. He’d said that before. More than once. The puffy fog was lifting from her brain.
He paused and squeezed her breasts to the point of pain. “Aralia, why are you being flogged?”
“So I…” Um, um… “Remember to keep promises. Or call.” There was more… “Right away.”