Hard to Serve: A Hard Ink Novella (15 page)

And Kyler? He had made her happy. Really happy. For a while.

God, why did she still miss him so much? Why did not being able to see him hurt so bad? But she did miss him, and it did hurt. Even more because he hadn’t been willing to even talk about finding a way to make it work. Had she meant so little?

All of which was why she’d returned Kyler’s gift—a year’s full membership to Blasphemy. She wouldn’t have been able to tolerate seeing him there with another submissive, and therefore she wasn’t going to use it, and she knew what it must’ve cost him. So she’d dropped it into the mail to the club, one of the two possible addresses she had. The other was police headquarters, and no way was she mailing her Blasphemy membership card to him there.

But even with the card out of sight, her brain wouldn’t let go of the fact that he’d purchased it for her in the first place. Which was something a Dom did for his submissive, one he claimed, one he collared. Had he been planning…?

No. She had to stop torturing herself by wondering about things she could never know.

“What has you upset, babydoll?” her father asked.

Mia realized she’d been staring at her plate, moving the noodles around with the plastic fork. “Oh. Sorry. Just a lot on my mind. The new exhibit and everything.” She waved her utensil dismissively.

Her dad nailed her with a stare, his eyes dark and full of concern. “So, there’s this thing I do at my job sometimes called interrogation. And to do it right, I have to be able to tell the difference between the truth and a lie…” He arched a brow.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said, having heard this particular bit of sarcasm before. She took a big bite of the spicy, delicious noodles.

“So?”

“It’s nothing I want to talk about, then. How’s that?” She shrugged. “I’m fine, though.”

“It’s Detective Vance.” He poured more of the drunken noodles onto his plate and speared an additional potsticker with his fork.

“Dad.” Just hearing Kyler’s name made her belly hurt and chased her appetite away.

“Mia, a cop isn’t who I’d want for you—”

“
Daaad
.” She really didn’t want to talk about this.

He reached across her desk and took her hand. “Just listen for a minute. A cop isn’t who I’d want for you, because being in a relationship with one is hard. And it’s not something most people understand enough to fully realize just how demanding it can be. Of all people, you probably do. But that makes me not want it for you even more.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry because I’m not seeing Kyler.” She met his gaze, then quickly looked away.

“I know,” he said. “At least, I guessed. Not from you, but from him.”

What did that mean? Mia was dying of curiosity, but she wasn’t going to ask. Anyway, did it matter? It’d been two weeks and she hadn’t heard from Kyler once. He had her cell phone number and her address. He hadn’t used either. “So, why are we talking about him then?”

“Because it’s not just that he’s a cop that gives me pause.” He took another bite.

“He told me about the investigation, if that’s what you’re going to say,” she said.

His expression shifted from surprised to approving. “I’m glad he did, but that’s not what I was going to say. I was going to say that I’d be hard-pressed to meet a man I thought was worthy of you, babydoll. Any man.” He gave a rueful smile. “Though I know that choice is yours, not mine. I know I wasn’t the friendliest the night I ran into the two of you. So if I had anything to do with the fact that you’re not seeing each other, I’m sorry. I don’t want to mess up with you just when we’ve finally managed to land in the same city after all this time.”

The sentiment made tears prick at the backs of her eyes. “You didn’t mess up.”

“Good. But you’re still unhappy.” He frowned.

She smiled, but it quickly faded from her face. “It happens.” What else could she say?

They finished eating and her dad left, but now he had her thinking about Kyler, where earlier in the day she’d been distracted by the excitement of the newly arrived pieces for the show. She worked through the afternoon and into the early evening hoping to find her excitement again, but it felt like it was just out of reach.

Part of her wished she’d kept her Blasphemy membership. It would be painful to see Kyler, but maybe if she did, maybe she could tell him…

What?

Hey, Kyler. Guess what? My dad said he doesn’t disapprove of us. Want to get back together now?

Ugh. Lame.

Because what a twenty-seven-year-old woman really wanted to do was have to convince a man to be with her. Using her father’s permission as a selling point.

The ridiculousness of that made Mia laugh out loud, the sound echoing in the large space of the gallery.

Bone tired, she cleaned up the last of the trash, turned out the lights, and locked up.

Later, when she was in her bedroom and comfortable in her pajamas, Mia spied Master Quinton’s card on her dresser. Her heart gave a little pang for him, too. Not because she was interested in him sexually or romantically, but because she felt like he could’ve been a friend. And it felt like one more loss.

Dropping onto the edge of her bed, Mia debated. And then she shot off a quick text message.
Hi, Master Quinton. It’s Mia Breslin. We met at Blasphemy last month. Just wanted to thank you again for your kindness that night.

She read it over once, twice, feeling kinda stupid. But there was a question she’d been thinking about, and he might be able to answer it. Or refer her to someone who could. On a yawn, she reached to plug her cell into the charger on her nightstand when it buzzed.

He’d written back already? She smiled. Yes, he had.

You’ve been thinking about my superpowers, haven’t you? Admit it. Q

Laughing, Mia nodded.
How could I not? Who can resist a great mystery?
She stared at the phone, hoping he’d write back again.

He did.
When are you coming back in?

The smile dropped off her face. What should she say?
I don’t have a membership.
She stared for another minute, then added.
I was actually hoping you might be able to recommend another club in Baltimore.
I love Blasphemy but it’s outside my range.

Her phone rang immediately. Master Quinton’s number.

Mia’s heart thundered in her chest as she answered. “Hello?”

“Mia, I’m not your Dom,” he said by way of greeting, “but I’m about to give you an order. You ready?”

“Um. Maybe?”

His deep chuckle came down the line. “Get your ass over here right now.”

“What? I’m in pajamas.”

“This is Blasphemy. Clothing is entirely optional. Problem solved. What else you got?” he asked, humor plain in his tone.

“Master Quinton, maybe you didn’t get my last text. I can’t come back to Blasphemy—”

“I got it,” he said. “You can come back. You have a membership.”

“I returned it,” she said, shaking her head.

“Uh huh. Which is why your card is waiting for you at registration. Memberships are nonrefundable, Mia. You have one. Please use it. This is the only place where I can guarantee your safety, especially given some of your interests.”

Meaning the breath play, no doubt. She sighed, confusion and competing reactions roaring through her.

“Are you on your way yet?” he asked.

She chuckled, a little exasperated. “Anyone ever tell you you’re bossy?”

He barked out a laugh. “All the fucking time. See you in less than thirty.” He hung up.

“Wait—” She groaned and flopped back on the bed. Now what was she going to do?

Her phone buzzed.
Better get moving, little subbie.

Oh, my God. Why were Doms such pains in the asses? She chuckled, the pun tripping her tired, stupid-humor buttons. But she got out of bed, freshened up, brushed her hair into a ponytail, and put on an easy but sexy black cotton sheath dress with a big, deep cut-out in the back. “Good enough,” she said to her reflection.

Mia arrived at Blasphemy with three minutes to spare. At the registration desk, she picked up her card and asked after Master Quinton. She found him tending bar.

“There she is,” he said, his handsome face breaking into a big smile. He poured a glass of champagne before she’d even settled into the chair. “On the house.”

“Aw, you’re too good to me, Master Quinton.” Seeing him again was bittersweet because she wasn’t at all sure coming here was a good idea.

“No such thing,” he said, winking. “Get your card?”

She smirked. “Yeah. Still not sure, though.”

He shook his head. “Nothing to be sure about. It’s yours whether you use it or not. Might as well use it.” He gave her a pointed look.

She nodded and sipped at her champagne.

Mia hadn’t come to play. She wasn’t in the mood. But she enjoyed the music and the champagne and the company of talking to Master Quinton in between his other customers. But it was late, and she had another long day of work in front of her tomorrow. She waved for her friend, because that was definitely how he felt to her, and Master Quinton made his way back to her. “I’m going to head out. Thanks for ordering my ass here tonight. It was good to see you.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Good to see you, too. Don’t wait too long ’til it happens again.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” He winked.

On her way back to the front of the club, Mia stopped at the restroom. When she came out again, she froze in her tracks. Because Kyler was standing at the far end of the hallway. Looking right at her.

Her belly went for a loop-the-loop. There was no way to avoid him. And, if she was seriously going to consider taking Master Quinton’s advice, she was going to have to face him sooner or later. Might as well be now.

“Master Kyler,” she said, giving him a cool nod. Her body tightened in his presence, muscle memory of all the incredible things they’d shared.

“Mia, I’m glad to see you’ve come.” Thick arms crossed, back against the wall, he was even sexier than she remembered. Damn him.

“Your gift was far too generous, but I understand it can’t be returned.”

“That’s right. So please use it.” He met her gaze, and she couldn’t read anything in his eyes. Not anything at all.

But what did his words mean? Use it so they could play together? Or use it and play with someone else? Anyone else? What did she have to lose by asking? Because part of her needed to know what he’d say. “Use it to be with you? Or…”

He flinched. She would’ve sworn he did. He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. But there are…plenty of other…” He shifted feet and raked a hand through his hair. “Others who will be better. For you.”

A sickening tingling spread outward from her belly. He really didn’t want her. And he was encouraging her to play with or find someone else. “Sure, sure.” She crossed her arms, anger and hurt flooding through her anew. “So, what would you recommend? Are Friday and Saturday the best nights to meet someone? Is there another Blasphemy Master you think I should meet? I mean, Master Quinton is pretty awesome. What do you think of him for me? I’d love your advice,” she said, screwing with him.

His eyes narrowed on her, heat sparking in the dark depths. “Uh, well…” Discomfort rolled off of him, and not a little agitation, too.

She sighed. “Bye, Kyler. See you on Friday night, if you’re around.” Because his idiocy was pressing her buttons, making her resolved not to let him run her off from this place she loved and this lifestyle she needed.

Yeah, she’d be back. She’d be back and ready to move on. From him.

Chapter 12

Captain Burkett caught Kyler in the hall. “Your investigation has been concluded. Word just came down to me. I don’t know anything else yet, but we’ve got a four o’clock meeting with Breslin and Foster. Upstairs in the commissioner’s office. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t. Do you have any sense of the findings?” Kyler asked, his gut twisting in anticipation and a little fear, too. Because everything he cared about was on the line. Being a detective, protecting and serving, carrying on the family legacy.

Not everything
, a little voice interjected.
Not Mia
.

But Kyler shoved that whole line of thought away. That wasn’t going to happen. No matter how hard it was going to be to watch her find someone else at Blasphemy, she wasn’t his. Even if he thought her father might come around to accepting them and even if they could beat the odds and survive despite the demands of his job, both of which were seriously fucking debatable, Kyler had now pushed her away on multiple occasions. Fuck, he’d told her to find someone else—a fact that made him want to puke every time he remembered the stricken look on her face. His second chance with her had come and gone several times over now. He’d had a shot—a long shot—at something great, but even if he could see a way around all the obstacles, he’d fucked it up. And he couldn’t imagine what would make her take him seriously again.

Assuming he wanted to ask that of her.

Which he didn’t.

Except he kinda did.

Fuck.

This was why he didn’t do relationships.

The day crawled until his meeting, and Kyler was a fidgeting, caffeine-overloaded mess by the time he and Burkett were being called into Breslin’s office.

The four men settled around the meeting table at the far end of the commissioner’s office.

Foster started speaking, a long preamble about the investigation’s purpose and process. Kyler was on the verge of losing his fucking mind. “Can you please cut to the chase?”

The IA guy looked bored. “You’ve been cleared, Detective. As soon as you can meet your target-shooting qualifications, you can return to duty. There won’t be any permanent mark on your personnel file.”

Elation roared through Kyler’s blood. “I’m cleared? It’s really over?” He glanced from one man to the other and found his captain smiling and nodding. And the news was even better because two days ago, for the first time, he’d come within points of passing those quals. He was going to beat the consequences of this injury. His arm and shoulder were getting stronger with each workout, each physical therapy session, each new round of shooting practice. For the first time, he breathed a sigh of relief because he actually believed he was going to get his life back now. He hadn’t really believed it until this moment.