Masters of the Shadowlands 8 - If only (12 page)

“She didn’t—”

“You shithead, everyone in the building heard her kick you out,” a man called from the doorway.

“Yeah, because you were ‘too rough,’” a young woman added, using her fingers to put quote signs around the phrase.

Excellent
. Galen grinned. “Good witnesses there.”

“Agreed.” Dan caught the uniformed policeman’s attention and jerked his head at the doorway. “Get their statements. Including if they know why Miss Hart dumped him.”

“Yes, sir,” the uniform said, obviously pleased.

“Who the fuck are you?” Borup rose to glower at Galen.

“FBI.” Galen showed his ID. “Working on human trafficking in the area. I’d like to hear more about how Ms. Hart was your slave.”

The man’s face turned a pasty white. “I didn’t—” He took a step back. “We were just playing, never like for real.”

“So you got drunk, came over, and beat her up.” Galen prompted. “Nothing to do with any Master/slave business?”

“No. I mean, that’s right.”

Dan turned his head and winked at Galen.

* * * *

After parking beside Galen’s black sports sedan, Vance jumped out of his truck and walked around to the passenger side. Good thing they’d driven separately to Dan’s house to watch the game. Even better that Dan had his dispatchers bribed to tell him if any problems occurred at the homes of the Shadowlands trainees. That altercation could have been an ugly mess otherwise.

He opened the door and scooped Sally into his arms. He’d held her before at the Shadowlands—tonight she seemed so much lighter. So fragile. She was wearing a fuzzy robe, and it felt as if he held a kitten.

She slapped his arm and wiggled. “Hey, I can walk. I’m not broken, remember?”

He snorted and then smiled. In many ways, spitfire submissives were even tougher than the Doms. “No, you’re certainly not broken.”

But, despite her protests, he carried the stubborn little sub into the house. Maybe she could walk, but he had a need to hold her. With reluctance, he settled her into Galen’s favorite spot—the recliner section of the sectional.

Carrying a pillow, Galen walked into the great room and over to Sally. “Feel better?”

Ignoring his question, she sat forward, holding her stomach. “What about Frank? The guy who talked to me in the ER said they’d arrest him. Will they? Or do I need to go there and—”

“Easy, pet. He’s all tucked away in jail.” He handed her a key. “This is the one he had, but I talked with the apartment manager. He’ll change the locks tomorrow.”

“Oh God, thank you.”

At Sally’s smile, Vance felt his chest tighten. It was the first time he’d seen her brighten all evening.

“No problem.” Galen frowned slightly. “Are you going to relax now?”

“Okay.” She leaned back on the recliner.

Good enough. She was in their home. It was a step in the right direction. He glanced at Galen. “The docs said no bones are broken. Ankle is sprained but not badly. Bruises will heal.”

Galen nodded.

“If you do cleanup, I’ll get her crutches, then make tea,” Vance said to Galen.

“That works.” Galen was already rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

By the time Vance returned with a tray of tea, Galen had cleaned the remnants of blood off her face, propped her left leg on a pillow, and put a bag of frozen peas on her ankle.

Sitting on the sectional beside Sally, Galen glanced at the tray and cleared a space on the flat armrest. “Vance makes tea for anyone who’s upset.”

“Happened to be my mother’s remedy for anything that ailed us,” Vance said.

A shadow crossed Galen’s face. Mrs. Kouros was as cold a woman as walked the earth. Very doubtful that she’d ever made her son any home remedies. Or shown him much love.

Vance had been luckier. He set the tray down.

“You don’t need to wait on me,” Sally protested and struggled to get up.

“Stay put.” Galen gave her a level look with the order.

She stared at him, then sank back onto the couch.

“Take it easy for now, sweetheart.” Vance took her hand and rubbed his thumb over the back. Such little hands. He handed her the cup, then sat on the coffee table.

After blowing on the steaming liquid, she sipped, then huffed a little laugh. “I like chamomile tea too, but how many teaspoons of sugar did you dump in this?”

“Lots.” Nothing like getting the blood sugar up.

As if to verify his statement, after a few more sips, some pink returned to her face.

“All right, now. Let’s have a report on where you’re hurting.” Galen leaned a hip on the arm of the couch.

“I’m fine.”

Galen grunted his annoyance. “Try again.”

“I—okay,
fine
. My head feels like someone is hitting it with a club, my stomach and hip hurt, and every time I move, a knife jabs into my ankle. All on the left side.” Her defiant glare faded into an adorably rueful smile. “Guess I didn’t do a very good job of defending myself.”

“You’re alive and moving—that’s good enough.” Galen frowned. “We don’t have much for painkillers.”

“I don’t want any—and that’s what I told the ER doc too.” She shook her head. “Being fuzzy-headed right now would bother me more than hurting.”

Because she’d be liable to start reliving the attack. Vance knew far too well how that felt. “I don’t like them either, especially after…situations.”

Without speaking, Galen disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned, he handed her a couple of ibuprofens. “They’ll help keep the swelling down without sedating you.”

As she choked them down, her eyes filled with tears.

Before Vance could move, Galen bent forward and tilted her chin up. “What’s wrong, pet? What can I do to help?”

She blinked hard, as if that would prevent them from seeing her distress.
Fat chance.

“Sally?” Galen’s brows drew together.

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“No,” Galen gritted out. “You are not fine.” He let her go and stalked across the room.

Christ, Galen.

But his friend didn’t react well to not being able to fix…everything. Especially if he cared. She’d learn that if she stuck around long enough.

“Sally.” Vance waited until her damp brown eyes lifted. “Only an idiot would lay out her emotions for just anyone to stomp on, but there are times you need to share how you feel. To be able to say, for example, ‘I’m unhappy because my boss yelled at me. I need a hug.’”

“I—”

“No, we won’t talk about this now. You’ve had a hell of a time.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. He’d damn well like to give her that hug. She needed one, but probably not from a man. Not right now.

He continued, “You think about it, sweetie. If you can’t share, you’ll deprive yourself of a lot of support as well as hurting your lovers’ feelings. Especially if they’re Doms. I like being able to help, you know.”

Her mouth opened; then she shut it and shook her head. But she hadn’t immediately rejected his statement. With a big swallow, she finished her tea.

He pulled her carefully to her feet, helping her balance on one foot. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

When she stiffened, he knew he’d read her right. Here she was, pretty fucking vulnerable and alone with males after being attacked.

Her little hands fisted. “I…I’m not sleepy. I’m not ready to—”

“Sally.” Galen turned, his face unreadable. “You’ll sleep alone in the guest room. We’ll be home, so if you need anything, just call out.” He paused and added, “If you want me to call you a friend or take you to a friend, I will.”

Surprise and then relief filled her face. “Thank you.” After a second, she said, “I’ll be okay.”

Vance nodded satisfaction as he lifted her into his arms. Despite all that had happened to her tonight, she’d heard Galen—and believed him. Odd how hopeful a little progress could be.

* * * *

In the guest bedroom, snuggled under the covers, Sally eventually started to relax. Maneuvering with the crutches was exhausting, but she’d managed to clean herself up. After bundling up her bloodstained pajamas and robe, she had donned the huge T-shirt Vance had given her and crawled into the king-size bed.

The sound of the men’s low voices from downstairs was more soothing than any white noise device.

The pillow was wonderfully soft…

In the quiet, she heard the door rattle. Her Kindle fell from her hand and broke on the floor, shattering into a million pieces. Her heart pounded as she sat up. Frank stood, staring at her. His eyes were a weird color. Wrong. His face was too long, twisting into cruel patterns like rubber melting in a fire. But his hands didn’t melt as he hit her. Blow after blow. She couldn’t move, couldn’t scream—couldn’t scream. No one would save her this time.

“Wake up, baby girl.”

Frank grabbed her shoulder, and she hit out as forcefully as she could. “No!”

Unyielding fingers closed around her wrist.

She gasped. And opened her eyes.

The light in the bedroom was on. No shadows anywhere. No monster. Galen sat on the bed, still holding her arm. Vance leaned against the door frame.

Lying down seemed far too vulnerable, and she tried to sit, gasping when pain stabbed into her stomach, then her hip.

Galen put his free arm behind her, helping her up. “Just a nightmare, pet,” he said in his smooth baritone, then pushed her hair away from her sweating face. “Not surprising, considering the evening you’ve had.”

“I almost hit you.”

His lips quirked. “Be a sad thing for my rep, to be downed by a bit of a submissive.”

She glared at him.

“There she is.” He dropped a kiss on her lips, surprising her so much she lost her frown.

Vance disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth. After sitting on the other side of the bed, he gently wiped her face. “That better?”

The coolness cut through the last of the dream. When she nodded, he brushed her damp cheek with his knuckles. “Hell of a time you’ve had.”

“Want to talk about it?” Galen asked.

“No.” Her voice came out raw, as if she’d actually managed to scream.

“I see.” Galen slid his hand down from her wrist and curled his fingers around her hand. If she’d been drowning, his grip would have pulled her to safety. “Can you go back to sleep?”

“I guess.” Exhaustion dragged at her body, but the thought of being alone in the dark was terrifying.
Don’t leave me. Please
. She stared down at the bedcovers. A second later, she realized she was gripping Galen’s hand so tightly her fingers ached.

“Baby girl, you’re a piece of work.” Galen shook his head. “Since you won’t ask, let me offer. Do you want one or both of us to sleep in here tonight? Just sleep.”

They’d stay with her. She’d never wanted anything so much in her life. “Yes,” she whispered. A double dose of safety. “Both.”

Galen touched her nose with a gentle finger. “That’s a start.”

She had a feeling he didn’t mean that they’d managed to get into her bed.

Vance grinned. “Want the bathroom before you’re pinned in the center?”

The surprised laugh she gave hurt her bruised face. “Yes.” She painfully crawled out of the bed.

To her relief, Galen merely handed her the crutches.

By the time she returned, both men had stripped, leaving only their jeans on. She stopped, realizing she’d never seen them shirtless. Vance’s chest was a solid wall of muscle under a light dusting of golden-brown hair. In contrast, Galen was all streamlined muscle under taut olive skin. His black chest hair made a triangle pointing downward toward his jeans.

After a second, she kicked herself back into moving, regretting that she was too tired to properly appreciate the view.

On the far side of the bed, Vance got in, then held up the covers for her. “You prefer on your stomach, back, or side?”

She froze, and the fear swept back in, more shocking from being unexpected.

Vance slid out of the bed and walked over to her, his eyes gentle. “Cold feet are best dealt with by letting someone warm them up for you. Come on, sweetheart.” He took her crutches, leaning them against the foot of the bed, then waited for her nod.

This was so wrong. This cowardice wasn’t her. At all. But as he simply waited, as she met his steady, so very controlled regard, she knew he was nothing like Frank. She pulled in her lips…and nodded.

He ran his knuckles down her cheek. “Thank you for your trust, Sally.” And with the easy strength she’d started to expect, he lifted her and set her down in the bed.

Oddly enough, she hadn’t “slept” with that many men. Most of her sexual play had been at the club. And, aside from Frank, she’d always kept some control. Galen and Vance had taken that away, only permitting her the courtesy of making a few decisions because she’d been hurt. The realization set up a quiver of worry—and need—inside her.

He followed her in and lay quietly.

Oh, right, wanting to know how she slept. “On my side.”

“Got it.” He rolled onto his back and, to her surprise, adjusted her so her head was on his shoulder, her stomach pressed against his side. Watching her closely, he gently lifted her left leg over his thighs. Her sore hip and ankle jolted with pain, then subsided. “Comfortable?” he asked.

“Yes.” Too comfortable. She flattened her hand on his wide chest. So big and muscular. His skin held the scent of soap.

And then Galen slid into the bed and moved behind her to spoon against her back. She tensed when his hand brushed her sore hip, but he moved his hand up to her side.

Warmth surrounded her along with his rich, masculine scent. She gave a soft sigh. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, pet.”

“Get some sleep.” Vance stroked her hair.

Although her body was comfortable, her mind wouldn’t turn off. Vance’s statement kept swirling through her brain.
“…there are times that you need to be able to share how you feel.”

She actually agreed. So why, when she wanted the guys to stay with her, hadn’t she been able to say that? Other submissives—other women even—had no trouble asking for hugs, for help, for a shoulder to cry on. She’d never realized she didn’t.

Under her hand, Vance’s chest slowly rose and fell, the curly hair tickling her fingers. He had just the right amount—somehow making him seem even more masculine.