Handcuffed by Her Hero (16 page)

“You think I’m going anywhere
without you, knowing Mua’s out and roaming free, with the police’s blessing?” He
finished that by slamming down a few of the pain pills while Mira slathered the
cream on his back, pressed the bandage on his gash, and handed off the leftover
supplies to Rayna.

It wasn’t reassuring to watch her
fingers shake as she accepted the pile. Her breath was a fearful bite in her
chest, too. Despite that, she argued, “You can’t move as fast or as invisibly
with me.”

He opened his hand, where he’d
held back four ibuprofen. “Take these. Sorry there’s no water.” His sardonic
glance at the sky wasn’t lost on her. The clouds roiled overhead, seeming to
fight with each other about what mode to be in: pouring or torrential.

 “Zeke, you need to think—”

“No.” As she watched, his humor
gave way to granite cliffs again. “No,
you
need to think.” He grabbed
her again, this time in determined grips to her shoulders. “I’m not letting
that prick or any of his minions get within ten miles of you.”

She struggled for a reaction to
that, any reaction, but the force wasn’t just evident in his words. His
conviction poured from him like a radiation cloud, stopping her breath. She
told herself to resist its searing impact, to remind herself it was only his
soldier’s ferocity and his dedication to honor that made him say all that. Even
if some deep part of his soul remembered that scene in the tunnel so long ago,
he wasn’t consciously accessing it now. He wasn’t committing to anything with
her, other than his duty by her.

Rayna finally gulped again.

Maybe…for now…duty had to be
enough.

It sure as hell won over the
consideration of watching him drive away, then stepping foot into a city where
Mua was slithering free—and hell-bent on getting his pound of flesh for King’s
death by selling hers.

“Okay.” She finally gave him a
shaky nod. “But only until they get Mua and your name is cleared.”

Zeke’s lips quirked up for a
flash of a second. He yanked her closer and pressed his lips to her forehead.
“Good girl. Now take your meds.”

As he pulled away, a surge of
alarm hit her. “Wait. What about my own car?”

“It’ll be part of Seattle PD’s
crime scene in ten minutes,” Garrett explained. “We’ll do what we can to get it
back. In the meantime, leave your keys and phone with Sage. We’ll dump them in
a locker at the airport. That’ll keep a few of them busy for a while, thinking
you’ve tried to catch a flight somewhere.”

“A few hundred flight manifests
and a few miles of security cam tape?” Zeke nodded in satisfaction as he pulled
on Max’s shirt. “It’ll put some hair on their chest. Or not.”

 Rayna did as they told her,
despite feeling naked from the second Sage took her items. Being absent from
her phone wasn’t a huge tragedy, except for the seven-part panic switch known
as her brothers. She was about to remind Zeke of that “minor” snag, when he
handed his own cell to Garrett then told his friend, “I’ll call when we get
there. You still have the sat phone number if you need it, right?”

Garrett nodded. “Check.” He
locked hands with Zeke before pulling him close, bumping shoulders in their
soldiers’ version of a hug. “Be safe—”

“Or die trying,” Z finished.

“Not an option,” Sage scolded.
“For either of you.” She yanked Rayna into a fast but tearful embrace. “It’ll
be okay,” her friend whispered into her ear. “We’ll get this straightened out
and I’ll see you in a few days.”

Rayna attempted a smile. She
wasn’t sure if she was successful. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. A year
and a half ago, she’d been kidnapped by foreign rebels and nearly sold into
slavery. Three months ago, a soldier had rescued her from that fate.
Forty-eight hours ago, she’d gone to Heaven and back in one night with him.
Yesterday, she’d never expected to see him again.

None of it felt more insane than
this moment. She looked at her legs, still in the sweats she’d pulled on this
morning, sliding against the leather of a car worth more than she made in a
year. She watched Zeke gun the engine with practiced ease, the driver’s area
full of his big body and his graceful strength. She marveled at how he
effortlessly maneuvered the Jag through the slumbering city streets then into
the sleepier suburbs, toward a destination only he knew of—and in which she
trusted him completely.

Insanity…right? But had she been
given a choice? Sure, if going back home tonight in a state of complete dread
qualified as a choice. If choosing to watch Zeke—the Zeke who’d saved her from
a gang rape in the park those many years ago, the Zeke who’d carried her out of
King’s jungle—ride away as a fugitive at Mua’s manipulations was a choice.

No. There was only one choice
now. Only one path.

She was going to help him figure
out how far Mua’s corruption extended—and after that, they’d take him down
again. If that meant she had to face Mua personally again, so be it. But God
help the bastard if that ever happened, because she wouldn’t hesitate to rid
this world of him exactly as she’d ended his brother. Nobody messed with the
people she cared about and got away with it.

Luna roused from her fog of
semi-consciousness, fighting reality as if she were being pulled from a perfect
dream. But the stinging stripes that crossed her spine and ass, as well as the
blue bruises around her nipples, were the beautiful reminders that it had all
been real. That
he’d
been real.

That he’d been a more perfect Dom
than she ever imagined.

“Zeke.” She whispered it against
a pillow on one of the couches in Bastille’s sitting room. She’d been here plenty
of times to recognize it, even without opening her eyes. Her voice shook like a
damn fifteen year-old after her teen idol had left town but she didn’t care.
This hurt. Sub drop was one thing but crash-and-burn was another.

Damn straight it
hurts, girl. When you fly to the moon, you have to re-enter the atmosphere
somehow. And you’re not wearing much of a space suit, are you?

She shivered and pulled the
flannel blanket tighter around her nakedness. She wasn’t expecting the large,
warm hand that appeared to help her. It was attached to a formidable forearm, a
toned bicep. She looked up into the face of Zeke’s friend, Mr. Huge Feet and Byzantine
brown eyes. The guy Zeke had recruited as their play room babysitter for the
night. He stared at her like the rest of the room didn’t exist, though it was
starting to get crowded as other couples drifted in after finishing their kinky
fun for the night.

His seriousness was a far cry
from the eye roll she’d heard earlier in his voice, back in the living room after
Zeke voiced his concern about the scene limits. She’d wanted to do the same
thing, except the carpet would’ve been her sole witness. It all worked out.
She’d been able to flash the look fifteen minutes later when Z had the nerve to
mandate a safe word.

Z had clearly known more than
both of them.

Another tremor hit from her
fingernails to her toenails. She closed her eyes as flashes filtered back to
her from the scene. Every moment leading to the first orgasm returned with
brilliant clarity. That was the easy part. She’d been lucid then. That was
before Z told her it was only the prelude to his game…and the world had begun
to spin. He’d dragged her along peaks and valleys of sensation like a lion
toying with its food before splitting it all the way open. He launched her to
the heights where only the pain and her screams existed, only to pull her back with
his growls and his touch…and her next climax. Then he’d start all over again,
stringing her senses higher, clamping and spanking and whipping until her blood
sang in her ears and flames licked at her skin. She’d gasped and even tried to
scream, but by then, her mouth functioned less than her brain.

That’s when the lion had let her
tumble into the jungle.

She felt a little smile lift her
lips from what she could scrape together from memory and store in her soul for
the rest of her life.

She’d already climaxed for him
three times. Of that much, she was sure. A submissive rarely forgot orgasms
that made their knees so weak, they were grateful for the bondage that held
them up. Her recall was especially vivid because something had changed about Z
after that third explosion as well. Something came unhinged, as if he freed a
new part of himself along with her. Her body had instantly recognized it. She’d
become an aching, writhing mess of sensation, especially as he finished
layering sharp little crop bites along the insides of her thighs.

When he’d unlocked the bit gag
and replaced it with his three middle fingers, she’d hungrily accepted his
invasion. She remembered the musk, sweat, and leather on his skin, and how the
sinful taste lingered across her tongue. His other hand still wielded the crop.
With dark growls, he curled the slapper up through her legs, raining ruthless
blows directly on her sensitive pussy.

It was all the invitation her
mind needed. The sub space had swallowed her like the damn Amazon. She’d swirled
in colors and sounds, plunging deeper into a vast wilderness of sensation and
emotion. And yes, Zeke had even gone there with her. His breath was hot on her
neck, his snarls echoing in her ears, and his hands…oh God, his hands kept
weaving their untamed magic over her, taking her deeper and deeper into
paradise…

Until that wretched safe word had
burned her out of the forest.
Cinderella.

She blinked as confusion eclipsed
the memories. Who’d evoked the damn princess? Not Z. And it sure as hell wasn’t
her.

She opened her eyes and glared at
Babysitter Man.

“It was you,” she charged.

He frowned. It defined the dip in
his top lip even more. “Me what?”

“You called the safe word.” She
didn’t hold back the accusation this time.

He reset his face in resolve.
“Damn straight I did.”

“Why?” She punched a glower
across hers. “Are you new at this, Ron Weasley? Why did Z tap you for this? Do
you not recognize sub space when it’s consuming a woman in front of you?”

He shoved his bottom lip out.
Damn it, did he pay for his mouth to have dance lessons or something? And why
did she even keep noticing? “Tait,” he finally said. Just that.

“What?”

“As much as I dig Ron, because he
gets the hot chick at the end of the end after all, my name is Tait. And I knew
exactly where you were at when I dropped the safe word.” He averted his gaze
but only for a second. “I didn’t take my eyes off of you during that scene.” A
weighted moment passed. Though his lips stopped dancing, his eyes flashed with
strange, deep squalls of conflict. He added lowly, “I couldn’t.”

Luna squirmed. She didn’t want to
feel good about that, even a little. Clinging to her ire was a much better fit
with the emptiness at the edges of her heart. “So?”

Tait didn’t back down. But
neither did the golden storms in his eyes. “It wasn’t you I was worried about.”

“Z’s been with Max for years.
He’s one of the most responsible Doms in the scene.”

“Which was why he asked me to
spot tonight. He knew it might go—” He stopped as if fishing for the right
word. “Well, where it went.”

“Which was nowhere I didn’t want
it to,” Luna retorted.

“Which would have caused you some
serious physical damage, Luna.” There were no mysterious lights in his eyes
anymore. Only angry darkness. “Perhaps permanently.”

“That was
my
risk to take,
Quidditch boy.”

“No.” He dropped a hard hand atop
her knee. “It wasn’t yours anymore, from the second you shot into sub space.
There’s a reason why the word ‘safe’ tops the mantra for this lifestyle, sweetness.
Zeke made sure I was there, because he knew I wouldn’t forget it.” He released
a slow breath. “Because he knew there was a good chance that he would.”

“You’re wrong,” she seethed.
“Zeke would never—”

“What?” he cut in. “Permanently hurt
you? Maim you?” Faster than she thought a man could move, Tait had leaned in
and over her. He braced a knee on the cushion in front of her stomach and a hand
at the side of her head. “Do you know what we do for a living, Luna?” He dug
his fingers into her scalp and his thumb into her jaw. “Do you know where we
go, what we’re asked to do sometimes? And do you know who’s leading the pack
most of the time? That’s right. Hooah, Psycho Zsycho. I’d follow the man into
hell because I know he’s going to have my six anywhere, any time. And you know
why I know that? Because I’ve seen him go to hell inside himself to do it. When
he does,” —if it was possible, his stare got flooded with more shadows— “well,
it’s not a cute little demon, that’s for sure,” he stressed. “It’s a creature
he’s had inside him for a very long time. A time filled with a shitload of ugly
business.”

For reasons she doubted Tait
would ever understand, Luna smiled. “You think I don’t know that? You think
because I’m a painter with lavender hair and a great leather wardrobe that I
don’t ‘get’ the shit beneath that man’s military posture and dog tags?” She
shook her head. “You don’t know anything, Weasley. You don’t know
me
.”

Jabbing in the Hogwarts angle
yielded the effect she wanted. Tait slid away, though she noticed how he took
care not to jostle her back and thighs as he did. Damn it, why did he have to
be so considerate?

“Maybe I don’t,” he said. “But that
doesn’t matter. I would’ve fucked Z up good if he didn’t comply with the stop.”

Her stomach fluttered in a really
uncomfortable way. It got worse when she slipped her hand into his, squeezing
out a feeble attempt at thanks. He didn’t lift his head, though the look he
gave her through his long copper lashes burned deeper than the welts across her
back. He didn’t break concentration even when a tray full of drink glasses
shattered to the floor, caught by the wrong edge of a new flogger being tried
out by a Dom across the room.

Luna gave up a little smile. It
felt comfortable to be here like this, with Tait’s sun-warm touch and crooked
smile. It almost felt right.

Almost.

There was a significant piece of
the scene that blared
wrong.

She released a long breath before
voicing it.

“He isn’t even in the building
anymore, is he?”

Tait’s eyes flickered with
conflict again. He finally responded, “No.”

She tried to pull her hand away.
He held fast. “Please let go.”

“It’s been a strange night, Luna.”

She fired a dark laugh. “You can
say that again.”

“Some bad shit went down outside.
Z was in the thick of it.”

“Of course.”

“Hey, it’s the truth. He called me
from the road. He was really concerned about you. He wanted you to know—”

“Stop.” She finally got her hand
free. A little fury went a long way in the battle of the handclasp department.
“Save it.” She closed her eyes again. “I knew what I signed on for tonight,
okay? I knew what the deal was. I’m happy. I’m not a cuddler, anyways.”

Despite her verbal arrows
otherwise, she knew Tait wasn’t stupid. He’d fill in the blanks between what
she said. Every word she spoke was true, too. She had no right to be irked,
miffed or insulted by Zeke right now. He’d fulfilled his part of their deal to
the letter. He’d given her the play session she’d dreamed of for six years and
had made it all well worth the wait. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t feel
the same way, too.

It wasn’t his fault that she’d
fantasized he would.

Tait’s comments,
all
of
them, suddenly repeated in her head. She shot a probing stare back at him. “Did
you say ‘on the road?’” At the guy’s nod, she pressed, “Why? Where’s he going?”

Tait’s mouth did a twisty dance
with itself again. “Like I said, it’s been an odd night.”

She scowled. There was something
he wasn’t telling her. “Who’s he with?”

Tait meshed his fingers with hers
again. “Rayna Chestain.”

The air whooshed painfully from
her lungs. She managed a jerky nod, too.  Both were shitty attempts to hide how
she’d been yearning for any other name as his answer—and how she’d known with
sickening dread that it wouldn’t be.

How medic girl had gotten here,
let alone seasoned her vanilla to suit Zeke’s palate, wasn’t worth two thoughts
to rub together. Yet here those thoughts were, taunting her, stealing the
perfect end to her perfect night. She was tired. Defeated. And clinging to the
hand of a total stranger while the Dom of her dreams drove into the night with his
little redheaded damsel in distress. Again.

“Right,” she finally mumbled.
“Rayna. Of course.”

“Truth sucks ass sometimes.” He
ran his thumb over her chafed wrist. “But you don’t deserve less, little
flower.”

Irritation flared fast, a
rankling reminder of the anger she was trying to ignore. “Don’t call me that,”
she spat.

“Why?”

“Because I’m not a goddamn flower,
that’s why.”

This was the point where he’d
finally let her go. Some lovely slam involving the words
cold
and
bitch
would spill off his poster-perfect lips before he got up and decided to enjoy
his evening with one of the little hotties in mall-bought kink wear who’d been
eyeing him from the corner. Something she’d never be. Something she never was.
A mold fitter. A submissive who couldn’t please anyone.

She gritted her teeth against the
aching heat that pressed in her chest. Shit.
Go away; go away.
But like
a case of violent food poisoning that was coming up the way it went down, she
felt the dams of indifference crumbling inside.

“L-listen,” she stammered, “I
appreciate you hanging out with me, Weasley, but I need to—” She swung her feet
out, planted them then stood. The blanket chafed her back, making her head swim
with dizzy pain. She weaved and prepared herself to hit the floor. She was
going to lose it. Damn, she was going to—

She didn’t fall. Tait and his
really significant chest made sure she didn’t. He wasn’t as broad as Z, but
what he lacked in width, he made up in boulder-like density.