Epilogue
EPILOGUE
T hree months later.
Makenzie
Makenzie's fingers tightened around Irish's larger, calloused hand as walked across the parking lot toward the doors of The Citadel. The monthly Little’s playdate had become the highlight in her calendar. She couldn’t wait to see her friends and get their playtime on.
“Do you think Savage will be here tonight?” She asked Irish.
“If he got invited, he will be,” Irish answered. The Citadel put member’s safety first. The Little’s playdate was for only those who identified as Little’s and whatever bigs they personally invited. It wasn’t open to all club members like the regular demos and play parties were. It made the Littles feel more secure knowing everyone in the room was vetted.
Makenzie giggled and swung Irish’s hand, fully emerged in her Little headspace. “I know she was invited,” she sang.
“Oh? Did Margot finally invite him? Last I heard, she was still fuming over him lifting her off the ladder in the greenhouse.”
“Nope. Not Margot.” Makenzie grinned.
“Then who invited him? Irish turned to look at her and she just shrugged. “Princess, who invited Savage.”
“I’m sure he thinks Margot did,” she said sweetly.
“You just said Margot didn’t invite him.” Irish stopped walking and frowned down at her. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do nothing, Daddy.” She tugged on his hand. “Come on! I want to play!”
He didn’t budge. Instead, he squatted down next to her. “Listen to me closely, princess.”
She sighed, and tried to tug his hand forward again. When he refused to move, she gave him. “Okay Daddy, I’s listening but you need to hurry up, you’s wasting my playtime.”
“There won’t be any playtime if you don’t listen to your Daddy. You are not to interfere with Savage and Margot. They don’t need a bunch of little girls playing matchmaker.”
“We don’t has to play matchmaker,” she said looking at him through wide eyes. “Uncle Savage already matched himself with her. He growled it out all across the street. Margot stomped on his foot and said no then ran away to Day their faces lit up with genuine delight at her arrival. Within moments, she was swept away toward the arts and crafts station. Her past fears and trust issues had dissolved over the last few months like sugar in her Daddy’s sweet tea.
“Look what I brought!” Veronica announced, holding up a box of princess tiaras, each sparkling with pretend gems. The group oohed and ahhed, selecting their crowns with care, entering their shared fantasy world.
“Princess Makenzie,” Mia declared, placing a delicate silver tiara atop her friend's curls. “You look just like a real-life princess, like Cinderella!”
“Only if Cinderella rode on the back of a Harley,” Makenzie quipped, her laughter mingling with theirs, light and free. She marveled at how these women, each from different walks of life, accepted one another without judgment.
Trinity twirled around, her skirt billowing around her like a cloud. “Do you think he’s going to come?” she asked Makenzie, her eyes twinkling with mirth.
“Uh huh. I hope so,” Makenzie said.
“Who are you talking about?” Margot asked.
Makenzie glanced back at Irish, catching his eye for a brief moment. He nodded subtly, a silent pledge of protection and care. She turned away with a contented sigh, her soul full of happiness. She’d finally found a place where she could be her truest self, surrounded by friends who understood the beauty of surrendering control to find freedom.
Together, they dove into their play, the outside world fading to a whisper as laughter and make-believe filled the room. In this space, Makenzie was no longer burdened by doubt but lifted by the certainty of trust and acceptance.
Irish
Irish's gaze followed Makenzie as she merged with her circle of friends. He leaned casually against the cool wall of The Citadel, the low thrum of music and muted conversations of the BDSM club a familiar backdrop to his watchful presence.
Beside him, Lucky threw a playful shout across the room, “Trinity, stop running! Walking feet inside!” She turned and stuck her tongue out at him, causing a burst of giggles to ripple through the group. Savage smirked, his eyes scanning the scene with the same protective sharpness that marked all the Spartan Watchmen officers.
“Hey,” Bull's voice cut through Irish's observations, “sorry I missed all the fun in New Jersey. Savage filled me in. Sounds like she took a plea deal and is going to be spending some time in federal prison.”
“The depth of deception that woman pulled off. Over three dozen inditements were handed down. Between the tens of thousands of dollars, she extorted from people, the defamation, doxing, wire fraud, harassment and internet crimes she committed, it’ll be a while before she is free to hurt anyone else.” Irish said.
“Glad to hear it. That has to make Makenzie feel better,” Bull said.
“The girls are already having fun, aren’t they?” Savage said, approaching the men along the wall. They turned to see the girls standing in a row, painting on easels.
“Fun's all well and good,” Mitch added, his tone light, “but we're here to make sure it stays safe and if Margot spins around one more time that close—” Before he could say another word, Savage sighed, and headed over to talk with Margot.
“It’s not going to be good,” Lucky said. “It’s like a train wreck, you can’t turn away.” The men all laughed as Margot stomped her foot and threw her hair over her shoulders. She pointed her finger and jabbed it into Savage’s chest all while shouting, “you aren’t the boss of me.”
One of the Dungeon Monitors came around then to check on the couple who were making quite the scene. Irish watched as Margot backed down and turned quietly to join the girls.
“She’s more than a handful,” Lucky said when Savage returned.
“Good thing I have two hands,” Savage quipped.
Dax sidled up to Irish, leaning in so only he could hear. “Got an update on that Darian situation.” Dax's voice was steady, his expression revealing nothing.
“Thanks, Dax. We'll deal with her soon enough,” Irish murmured, his mind already mapping out the confrontation that awaited them. His conscious warred with his commitment to justice. It didn’t sit well with Irish to put the mother of his children behind bars. His children were his priority, and he couldn’t imagine the emotional harm that would come to them because of it. On the other hand, she’d stolen thousands of dollars not only from his company, but from the teens who needed the camp and the donors.
“It might not be yours to deal with,” Dax said. “I can see the conflict in your expression, and I might have a way out. After Makenzie asked Arrow for his help going over your books, he decided to take a look back at The Watchmen’s ledgers, since he allowed Wyatt to help him, as well. There are some discrepancies he will be looking into further.”
Irish nodded. If she’d stolen money from The Watchmen, the decision to prosecute would be out of his hands. Irish could sit back for a moment and let Arrow investigate.
His attention snapped back to the now as he caught sight of Makenzie's petite form weaving through her friends, coming toward him with a rare frown on her face. She crossed her arms, her lower lip jutting out defiantly. “Daddy, the new girl won’t share. She is being a meanie face!” She stomped her foot hard.
“What’s going on princess? Whatever it is, we can solve it like a big girl. Good girls do not stomp their feet at people.” Irish's voice was calm but carried an edge of command. He took her hand gently, leading her away from group to a quiet corner. Her protest faded, replaced by a flush of anticipation that colored her cheeks.
“Using your big girl words, can you tell me what is going on?” he asked her.
“There’s a new girl over there, Emilee. I wanted to be nice to her because Mia is being really mean to her which is really not like Mia at all and I remember what it was like to be new and everyone be mean to me, not here but you know?—”
“Makenzie, I’m going to need you to slow down and take a breath, sweetheart.” He sat on the floor, back against the wall and pulled her down into his lap.
“I tried to be nice to her cause it doesn’t look like the others are being nice to her and she snatched the bucket of kitchen toys and yelled at me to go away. She won’t share.”
“Is it possible she is going through something rough that maybe you don’t know about and she’s scared to make new friends?”
“Maybe…” he could see Makenzie thinking things through.
“How about this, we let her be for tonight and I can ask Jay to invite her over for a one-on-one playdate sometime and we can get to know her better? Now, we have to leave in about fifteen minutes because we have an early meeting with--”
“No! I don’t want to leave. Nu uh, not going!” She jumped out of his lap and turned as if to head back to her friends.
“Look at me, Makenzie,” he instructed, grasping firmly onto her upper arm. “You know that 'no' isn't an acceptable way to communicate your displeasure and you never run away from Daddy. Do we need to take this conversation into one of the private rooms and waste the little time you have left to play?” His words were firm and scolding.
“No, Daddy!”
“Good girl. When I tell you it’s time to leave, are you going to come willingly? We had this discussion before we came tonight that it would be a shortened time.”
She nodded. He delivered a measured hard swat on her behind. “You may go play with your friends now.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” she sang out, skipping off to rejoin her friends.
Back with the men, he kept a careful watch on Makenzie. The room was full of laughter and playful squeals, but there was one girl there who didn’t seem to be having as much fun. A lone figure standing off in the corner, playing at the kitchen. He waved Jay over.
“Who is that?” he asked.
“Emilee. Has she done something wrong?”
“I’m not entirely sure. Makenzie said she wasn’t sharing and something about the other girls being mean to her.”
Jay frowned. “There’s an entire long backstory there. However, Emilee is a member just like anyone else and should be treated kindly. We’ve gotten to know her the last six months and she has a rough past but she’s a good person.”
“Was Mia rude to her?” Mitch asked directly. “Mia has a deep sense of loyalty and because of the situation with Catie, she’s not been as open and welcoming as I’d like. If she is still being mean to that girl, we are going to leave now and have a long talk.”
“I’m not going to tell you what to do with your Little but yes, Makenzie mentioned Mia’s name. She wasn’t tattling on Mia on purpose. She was telling on Emilee for not sharing and it came out,” Irish explained.
Mitch sighed in obvious frustration. “That’s my cue to take Mia home and have a nice long conversation with how we treat others. Mia is one of the most compassionate, caring and empathetic women I know. Sometimes, her Little gets really big feelings and she lashes out wrong.”
“I suggested a private more intimate playdate for getting to know Emilee,” Irish said. “Maybe Mia should join us.”
“I think that is a great idea,” Jay said. “I’ll help you arrange it.”
“It’ll have to be after we get back from our next camp trip. We leave tomorrow,” Irish told him.
A week later.
The crisp morning air filled the wilderness camp as Irish, Makenzie, and Irish's son Wyatt stood at the base of the high ropes course, watching the at-risk teens tackle the challenging obstacles. The campers’ faces were illuminated with a mix of excitement and nervousness as they observed the rope course.
Among the teens, Dalton stood out the most in this bunch. He’d come to camp with almost nothing, which wasn’t completely shocking. The teen spent the last year in and out of homeless shelters and living in a car with his mother. He was quiet and respectful but lacked self-esteem and confidence. His sweet demeanor and willingness to lend a hand made him a favorite among the counselors and mentors. Now, it was his turn to start the course. His shoulders were tense, and his hands trembled slightly as he eyed the towering ropes course before him. Irish placed a reassuring hand on Dalton's shoulder, giving him a supportive smile.
“You got this, Dalton,” Irish encouraged. “Just take it one step at a time, and before you know it, you'll be at the top.”
Makenzie nodded in agreement, her eyes shining with pride. “We believe in you, Dalton. You're stronger than you think.”
Wyatt, standing beside them, added his own words of encouragement. “You've come so far already, bruh. Don't let fear hold you back now.”
With their encouragement echoing around him, Dalton took a deep breath and stepped forward. Slowly but steadily, he began to ascend the ropes.
Irish, Makenzie, and Wyatt watched with bated breath as Dalton navigated each obstacle, his confidence growing with each successful step. They cheered him on with every leap and swing, their voices echoing through the wilderness.
“You're doing great, Dalton! Keep going!”
“You're unstoppable, buddy! You've got this!”
As Dalton reached the final stretch of the course, a triumphant smile spread across his face. With one last leap, he landed safely on the platform at the top, his arms raised in victory.
Irish, Makenzie, and Wyatt erupted into cheers, their hearts bursting with pride at Dalton's accomplishment. They rushed forward to congratulate him, enveloping him in a group hug filled with joy and gratitude.
“You did it, Dalton!” Irish exclaimed, clapping him on the back. “We knew you could do it!”
Makenzie beamed at him. “We're so proud of you.”
Wyatt grinned, giving Dalton a high-five. “You're a champ, Dalton. Never forget that.”
As they stood together, basking in the glow of Dalton's success, Irish, Makenzie, and Wyatt knew that they had made a difference in his life. And as Makenzie watched him stand tall and confident atop the high ropes course, she knew leaving her groom at the altar was the best decision she’d ever made. Not only had she found her Daddy, and a community of friends who had her back, she now had a more fulfilling job, where she truly felt like she was making a difference.
Emilee
Emilee couldn't shake the sense of dread that had settled in her stomach as she moved through The Citadel. The night was supposed to be just another catering gig, another chance to earn a paycheck and move further away from her past. But the moment she spotted Catie in the crowd, everything changed. She’d never expected her to be at the BDSM club’s elite party. She’d heard through the grapevine that she was found and had gone through a year of recovery. Emilee was happy for her; she knew first-hand how hard recovery had been. Seeing her with the tall, sexy man she was sure Catie had found more than just a second chance at life, she’d found love, too. Love. It wasn’t something in the bags for Emilee. No man would want her after everything she’d done in her life. Dirty. Used. Discarded. Anything but girlfriend material, let alone wife material.
After an hour of trying to avoid her, Emilee finally approached, her tray of champagne flutes trembling slightly. “Hey, Catie,” she said, her voice slicing through the din of conversation.
“Emilee,” Catie replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “You work here now?”
“New gig with Grand Ridge Catering,” Emilee nodded, offering the tray. “Never thought I'd see you here, looking all... clean.” Damn. That wasn’t the right word. Why was she so awkward?
“Life changes,” Catie replied tersely, declining the drink with a subtle hand gesture.
“Sure does,” Emilee agreed, her glance lingering for a moment too long before she moved away. They’d been best friends once. Could she call them that? Really? Were they ever best friends? Surviving the streets, with a needle in one arm or sniffing drugs off a random man’s table, they’d been inseparable. Together, they were safer. Sometimes, they’d even talk about their hopes and dreams, not that either of them was stupid enough to think they’d come true. One hit to the next, it was how they’d lived. She could feel Catie’s eyes boring into her back as she walked off, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on her shoulders. She knew she couldn’t leave it like that.
Taking a deep breath and summoning up courage from the tips of her toes, she turned back and found Catie again, sitting alone. The air around them seemed to tingle with static anticipation as she approached. It hadn’t been this way before. They were comfortable together; it was an easy friendship.
“Hey, Catie.” Emilee's voice trembled. “I couldn’t do it, just walk away without telling you that... I'm sorry. I couldn’t pretend everything was okay.” She was sorry Catie had been kidnapped and treated so poorly.
Catie's gaze drifted up, her eyes cold and distant. “Sorry?” Catie's voice cracked, barely containing her anger. “For what? For that night? For allowing them to take me and not doing a damn thing to help?”
Emilee nodded, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I was there, high out of my mind. You needed help, and I... I didn't get it.” In time anyway. She’d tried. Damn, had she tried. But she’d woken up in a hospital and no one could tell her anything about what had happened to Catie.
“Didn't…” Catie's voice faltered. “Ran away,” she whispered, voice laced with frost. “You ran when they came for me.”
“God! Yes, I did. I did. I didn’t know what to do…” Emilee's admission sliced the air, raw and jagged. “And I'll never forgive myself.” She ran to get help. Ran to find a police officer. She ran… and couldn’t remember what happened after she ran. The words wouldn’t come out. She choked on them.
“Neither will I.” Catie stood up, her body trembling with barely suppressed rage. “Do you know what they did to me? They kept me captive, shooting me up for compliance until… until they left me. Alone to go through withdrawal by myself in the middle of the cold forest. Do you know what withdrawing off heroin without help is like? I thought I was going to puke out my organs. The pain… the helplessness… the desperation–”
“Please, Catie,” Emilee reached out, a plea in her touch. She did run, but she ran to find help. She was strung out on drugs, sure, but she’d known the desperation of the situation and wanted to help her friend.
“Stop.” Catie recoiled, her voice a viper's hiss. “Just stop.” There was silence, a chasm stretching between them. Emilee watched as Catie’s face contorted with anger. She wanted to say something, anything, to make it right, but the words caught in her throat.
“Look at me, Catie.” Emilee's voice was insistent, demanding attention.
Catie lifted her eyes. “I see you,” she said, each word a hammer strike. “I see you. I see the coward who stood by and did nothing as her best friend was kidnapped by vicious, violent men.”
“Anything, I'll do anything to make it right,” Emilee's words tumbled out, desperate.
“Live with it,” Catie returned sharply. “Like I have.”
“Please, Catie, I…” Emilee's voice faltered. I tried. I tried to get help. The words wouldn’t come out, and even if they had, would Catie believe her?
“Stop,” Catie interjected, her whisper a serrated blade. “Just stop.”
“I was lost too, back then. I didn't know…” Emilee reached out a hand.
Catie recoiled, a reflex born from survival, not spite. “Didn't know? Didn’t know how to call 9-1-1? Didn’t know how to scream for help? Didn’t know how to report to the police what you’d witnessed?”
“I was high… I didn’t know if what I’d seen was even real until days later. But, look at you now, though. You're so strong.” Emilee didn’t say what she wanted. She’d woken up in the hospital and demanded someone look into Catie’s disappearance. The detective told her there was no evidence of a kidnapping, chalked it up to her being high. Told her it was a nightmare, not reality.
“Am I?” Doubt crept into Catie's voice.
“Of course. You've come so far.”
“Far?” A snort escaped Catie. “From everything we were?”
“Everything we were?” Catie repeated. “That girl I once was is still here, in the shadows, waiting to remind me how fragile this all is. I fight against her every second of every day. Do you think it’s easy? It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever fucking done. Getting up everyday knowing it’s another day in battle against my own fucking self.”
“Yes, but every day, every moment, you choose to keep moving forward.” As she had. She spoke from experience. Some days, she was only one decision away from returning to the pits of hell.
“It’s a choice. A choice I make over and over again. Like the choice you made to allow me to be kidnapped and do nothing about it.”
“I make the same choice. I’ve left that life behind,” Emilee said, reaching out only to let her hand fall back to her side. She really couldn’t get her brain and her mouth to connect. She wanted to bite back at her, tell her she was wrong. Catie saw her run as she was taken, but she didn’t know what happened after she ran. Somehow, she knew Catie wouldn’t be open to hearing any of it.
“Left it behind?” A bitter laugh escaped Catie's lips. “It's never behind me. It's beside me, with every step I take. The memories, the nightmares, the flashbacks… I’ve learned how to deal with them, but they aren’t behind me. They still haunt me.”
Emilee's gaze faltered, pain etched into the lines of her face. “That doesn't mean you haven't changed. It doesn't mean?—”
“I have changed. I’ve found strength I didn’t know I had inside of me. But, change doesn't erase the past. It doesn't warm the cold nights I spent alone in that shed, wondering if I'd die before morning. It doesn’t erase the fear I felt, or the hope that faded. Surely, my best friend has called the police. Rescue will come. She got the license plate number… I waited and waited, thinking you’d done the right thing. That hope faded when they never came, because you never called them. If I’d died, you’d have been partly responsible. You watched evil happen and did nothing to stop it.”
“Please, don't do this,” Emilee begged, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
“You ran when I needed you most. When I was dragged away into the night, where were you?”
“Lost,” Emilee confessed, her composure fracturing. “But I'm here now, Catie. I’m so sorry–” She’d tried to get to the police station but she’d gotten lost along the way. She’d turned and been hit by a car. Waking up in the hospital, the first thing she did was ask about Catie. Demand to see a detective…
“I need you to hear what I am saying,” Catie snapped. “I spent nights in that shed, freezing, convinced I was going to die alone. Do you have any idea what that does to a person? Save your apologies! I don’t want to hear them!” Catie's shout sliced through the growing tension. Heads turned, eyes peered, but she didn’t appear to care less. “Your apologies can't warm the cold nights or erase the screams that still echo in my ears!”
“Please, Catie,” Emilee begged, her own voice cracking, louder than intended. “I'm trying to make it right.” And failing miserably at it.
Catie’s boyfriend appeared next to them, and stepped close to Catie. A silent bodyguard, Emilee understood the message he was sending her.
“Make it right?” Catie's laugh was bitter. “You can't undo the past. You can't give me back what I lost! You think you can step in and simply apologize now? After leaving me to fend for myself in the darkest moments of my life?”
The silence that followed was deafening; even the distant hum of the party seemed to hold its breath. Catie's vulnerability was raw, a wound reopened for all to see. Emilee's mouth opened and closed, no words finding their way out as she grappled with the gravity of what stood before her—a living testament to her failure. She should have fought harder, should have followed through and demanded they look for Catie. Instead, she let the detective convince her she’d been dreaming and let it go. She lived with the guilt.
“Every day,” Catie's voice broke, “every damn day, I fight to be someone worth something. Not just to the world, but to myself. And every night, I battle the demons you helped summon into my life.” Catie stood there, chest heaving with ragged breaths, the remnants of her broken past reflected in the shimmering tears that traced paths down her cheeks.
The conversation was quick, the words back and forth between them. They’d been more than friends; Catie was all she had back then. She felt like the conversation was going nowhere, repeating itself over and over.
“I said I was sorry! What do you want from me?” Emilee begged. She wanted Catie to hear her. Not listen to the words, but hear them. Feel them. Please understand.
“Enough!” Catie’s boyfriend’s command sliced through the tension like a steel blade. Another man flanked him, Catie’s sister’s boyfriend, his own expression grim as he moved towards Emilee.
“Come with me,” he said, his hand firm on Emilee's elbow, steering her away from Catie and over to where Jay, the owner of The Citadel stood by the bar, his brow furrowed in concern.
“I don’t know what’s going on here,” Jay said, holding up his hand when Emilee opened her mouth to answer. “But, I can tell Catie isn’t comfortable with you being here. Now is not the time or place to get into it. I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’ll go ahead and pay for your time, including the hours you won’t be here for. I don’t have to remind you of the nondisclosure contract you signed, do I?”
“No,” Emilee said sadly.
“Good girl.” Jay handed her way more than her hourly pay. “Please walk her out,” he nodded to another man nearby.
Money in hand, Emilee walked sadly to where her car was parked in the back lot. The little two door Chevy Cavalier that doubled as her home. She climbed inside and numbly drove to Main Street. Parking behind The Rusty Crab, she crawled into the backseat, pulled her knees to her chest and sobbed.