Chapter 5 #3
Checking the next day’s schedule, my mood takes a hit when I see the hour I set aside in the hopes that Mac might want to get started on his mermaid.
I cancel the hold and open the hour. My mood sinks lower when I see Edz’s name at two p.m. I’m sure he’s coming in for more work on the huge back piece I’ve been filling in.
But the reminder of another Dom who didn’t want more than a steady supply of scenes and sex from me makes my throat tight and my eyes prickle.
I shake those feelings off. I’m proud of the ink I’ve laid on Edz over the years, and tomorrow’s an opportunity to work on what legitimately could be considered my life’s work since he was my very first victim.
He doesn’t have to be a reminder of past failures and, if nothing else, Edz is still pretty tight with my old foster family, so I’ll be able to catch up on the gossip.
I shut down the office computer, check the new back-door lock, and stumble upstairs.
Thinking about Edz reminds me that I haven’t seen or heard from Ruby in nearly a week.
I pull out my phone to message her, the girl I used to see every day, my best friend and soul sister and role model.
A couple of missed messages pop up. I turned the sound off on my phone yesterday before the scene and I must have forgotten to turn it back on.
There are two messages from repeat clients asking for appointments, a message from Emily, one from Theo, and one, and I could kick myself for how my heart leaps when I see it, from Mac.
But the message that makes me stop cold, my hand on my apartment door, is from Cappa, fellow house-submissive and almost-sweeter-than-Emily-sweetheart.
It says, “911,” and an address in Rose Hill.
The text is over an hour old. Instead of texting or calling Cappa back, I swipe open my phone and call Austin.
“Are you with Cappa?” I ask before he even says hello.
“Yeah, I’ve got him.”
“Thank the Benevolence.” I figured Cappa would call Austin if he couldn’t get through to me. “Is he hurt?”
“Yeah. They’re stitching him up. Probably another hour. Dana’s out of town overnight and I can’t take him back to ours while she’s away—”
“No, bring him to mine. Or tell me where you are and I’ll meet you.”
“CityMD on East Thirty-Seventh, but I’ll bring him to your place. He’s in a bad way, Bren. Asshole used him as a punching bag when he was done.”
“Has he said who it was?” Cappa’s one of the few house submissives who still trolls the New York clubs for tops, and this isn’t the first time that he’s made a bad choice and ended up a victim instead of a bottom.
But Cappa’s also come out of a few scenes at the club more torn up than anyone should be.
There’s a dark rumor at the club that he won’t use his safe word there and that a couple of the Blunts Doms are taking advantage of it.
I’ve never hoped that club gossip is just bullshit more than right now. “Is it anyone we know?”
“He said it’s no one we know and he’ll put the guy on the club blacklist just in case, but I don’t know, Bren. I think he’s lying. Maybe you can get it out of him.”
If he’s not too much of a mess, I’ll try. “Okay. Text me when you get here so I can open the security door for you. Should I call anyone?”
Austin’s silent for a long moment. “Master Logan.”
Hell.
“Are you sure? What about Mistress Maude or Ryan?”
“I’m sure.”
I blow out a long breath. I’m just endearing myself to Logan all over the place today. “Okay, I will.”
That’s how, for the second time in fourteen hours, I find myself in Logan and Emily’s guest bedroom.
I’m wearing Mac’s clothes again, this time a T-shirt, because Logan didn’t even give me time to pack an overnight bag before he swept me up in an Uber on the way to CityMD.
I’m in the guest bed, curled around a man’s back again, but this time it’s Cappa’s slender, bony back instead of Mac’s huge frame and it’s the smell of sweat, antiseptic, and Cappa’s patchouli cologne in my nose instead of Mac’s warm tea, tobacco, and leather scent.
Cappa’s sleeping deeply now, and like last night, I’m lying awake, staring at the ceiling, looking for answers in the shadows.
Why is it that everything exciting, everything really satisfying, is dangerous?
I know submission is dangerous. Giving my physical and mental safety over to a man who wants to hurt me is dangerous.
There could be no clearer example than Cappa, lying next to me with sixteen stitches and strapped ribs.
Why couldn’t knitting fill my soul the way submission does?
Of course, I’ve never tried knitting. Would knitting give me orgasms?
Probably not. Unless I pierced my own clit with a knitting needle. They’re sharp, right?
I sigh and lift my phone off my chest to check the screen. It’s dark. No response from Mac. I’m being an idiot. It’s after two in the morning. He’s probably asleep. Everyone else is. I should be. I’m going to really regret two nights of fucked up sleep tomorrow.
My phone screen lights up, chasing back the room’s shadows.
I found her. She’s a mess. I’ll need to stay a few days to get her help. Rain check on this weekend?
I smile stupidly at the screen before I text back.
No problem. Glad you found her. Hope she gets better soon.
Mac sends back a thumbs up, which deflates my smile a little.
But he’s probably exhausted. I am, even though I can’t seem to close my eyes and turn off my mind.
Beside me, Cappa shudders and whimpers in his sleep.
I rub my hand up and down his arm, avoiding putting any pressure on his broken ribs, while letting my phone drop back onto my chest so the room falls dark again.
I’m still clutching my phone to my chest when the door opening wakes me.
Emily peeks in and I see the hall behind her is filled with light.
I blink blearily, feeling like I haven’t slept at all.
I shift away from Cappa, so I don’t wake him when I stretch.
Every muscle complains. First separately and then all together.
Damn, I feel like Mac hit me with a dozen rubber mallets instead of a few strips of animal hide.
Rubbing my very sore neck, I roll carefully out of bed and pad over to the door.
“I let you sleep in as long as I could,” Emily whispers.
What the hell time is it? I check my phone and feel surprise ripple through me like a cramp. Five minutes to noon.
“Thanks for waking me, hon. I’ve got to jet. I’m gonna be late.”
Emily nods. “Daddy asked me to ask you if Cappa said anything more to you about who hurt him?”
I shake my head. “He’s sticking to the same story as last night.”
“Daddy says he’s going to stay with us until the weekend. Can you come back tonight?”
I lean in and kiss her on the head. “Yeah, I’m closing tonight, but I’ll come straight here afterwards.”
“I’ll keep dinner warm for you.”
“You don’t need to feed me.”
“I know. It’s chicken chasseur with sourdough bread.”
“You’re killing me.”
“Fruit tart for dessert.”
“Sold. I’ll be here by ten-thirty. Cappa had pain-killers at one, so he can have them again whenever he wakes up.”
Emily nods but she looks devastated, and I don’t think it’s because of my reaction to her dinner menu.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and hug her tight. “It’s going to be okay. Cappa will heal and we’ll talk and talk and talk him to death until he tells us what’s really going on and we can be sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Austin said this has happened before.”
What do I say to that? It’s a big, scary world out there, particularly for defectives like us who need to be hurt by those we want to love.
Emily’s been shielded from it, mostly, by living in the sticks and by seeking out Daddy Doms who are protective by nature.
Not all of us have been so lucky, and Cappa definitely hasn’t.
“Talk to your Daddy about it, okay? Don’t carry around your worries all day. I’ve gotta go.”
Emily wipes her eyes quickly. “I’ll call you an Uber.”
“Thanks, hon.”
I end up wearing Mac’s T-shirt to work and doing a quick PT-and-A with a pack of baby wipes that Emily hands me as I’m running out the door, and hoping his warm scent covers up any objectionable smell from underneath.
One of the downsides of what I do is how close I get to my clients.
I know all about their personal hygiene, and they also know about mine.
I’m reminded of why today would have been a good day to spend a little extra time on my appearance—and get more than a few hours of uninterrupted sleep—when my ex and first Dom walks in on the dot of two.
Edz looks like an underwear model, all sexily spiked hair and cheekbones that could cut glass.
He used to give me shit about my dreads, but he’s working the mixed-race look today with bright green contacts that pop against his brown skin.
He’s advertising his venue, Edz Muze, on a T-shirt under a leather jacket, and his jeans are just the right amount of distressed.
For the very first time since meeting Edz in a group home a decade ago and thinking he was the coolest person I’d ever met or ever would meet, I find myself preferring craggy features and pinstripes.
“Asshole,” I greet him.
He comes around the counter like he owns the place, grabs the back of my neck, exposed because I’ve put my dreads up in a big bun, and drags me into a hug. “Jizzbucket,” he growls into my ear. His old nickname for me.
I push him away. “No flirting today. I’m on a schedule. Which sketch did you pick?”