Nobody's Perfect (25 page)

"Just float." She'd certainly earned this relaxation time, a chance to drift away in her head some neutral place between reality and dreams. He hoped she'd avoid the dark places.

When she awoke, he'd explain what had happened. He hoped this breath-control play helped her see that there were ways for him to exert control over her without restraints—or pain.

But he needed to be careful. Savi would want nothing to do with his world. He was playing with fire introducing her to any control techniques.

Mierda
, just being around Savi was the equivalent of playing with fire.

Maybe he should talk with Dad about sending Savi and Marisol over there for a while, as far away from him as possible, for her own well-being—and his.

* * *

Maman's screams woke Savannah from a deep sleep. She looked toward her open bedroom door, drawn to the hallway. Tossing the summer bedspread back, the eight-year-old stood on shaking legs. Placing one foot in front of the other, she crossed the room, the cold floor sending a chill up her spine. Or was it Maman's screams causing that?

Near the end of the hallway, the light to her parents' bedroom shone under the doorway. Should she go in there? She'd been told never to go in when the door was closed. But it sounded like Maman needed her.

Where was Father? He should protect Maman. Maybe he wasn't home yet. Still, what could a little girl do if someone had broken in and was attacking her mother?

Slowly, quietly, Savannah turned the door knob. Everything moved in slow motion. Then she saw Maman thrashing on the bed, a man on top of her...

"Noooooo! Stop hurting her!"
Savi stabbed the air with her fists.
"Maman, what's wrong?"

She heard the bedroom door open behind her and someone grabbed her flailing arms in mid-air. Father?

"Savi! You're dreaming,
querida
. Wake up. Now."

"What's wrong with Maman?" Mari's cries filtered into her brain. She needed to protect Mari from Father. "Run, Mari! Run! Don't let him catch you!"

"Daddy won't hurt me, Maman."

But he will. He's evil. All men are evil
. "Don't let him touch you, Mari. Please, run!"

"Savi. Wake up. That's the past. You're here in Denver."

The hands holding her arms down began to hurt. She whimpered. "Don't hurt Maman!"

The strange man's voice was upset as he barked orders. "Marisol, go on the coffee table and get my phone." The deep, masculine voice had a Spanish accent—not like Father's at all. "Press the number 2 and hold it until Grandpa or Karla answers. Tell them we need Grandpa to come get you."

"But, Daddy, I want to stay with my maman?"

"
Muévete rapido
, Marisol. Do as I say."

"Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl."

At Father's words, Savi fought against the arms holding her. "Noooo! Don't call me that! I'm bad. I didn't stop you."

Strong, warm arms pulled her up and held onto her. "Shhh, Savi. It wasn't your fault. You couldn't stop what happened. You were just a little girl."

"Choking."

"Oh,
bebé
. Just let it all out."

"Hands. Choking. Won't stop."

"He choked you?"

She shook her head. Why didn't he understand? Savi sobbed, then realized her face was pressed against a bare chest. A man's chest.

He stroked her hair. "That's my girl. Just let it out."

Damián
. He lay stretched out beside her. How did she get into bed? The last thing she remembered was Damián mouth on hers, stealing her breath. She turned away and saw Mari's Josefina doll. Mari had come home at some time. What time was it?

Damián's hands stroked her hair as he crooned to her, uttering words of comfort. But there could be no comfort. She would never heal from the images branded on her mind.

"Oh, God!" The brand. Her shame. How could Damián ever want to touch her again if he saw her shame? She tried to escape his arms. "Don't touch me!"

When he didn't release her, she panicked further. She needed to get away. She pushed the heels of her hands against his chest, but he just held on.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Savi. I'm not going to let you go, either. You might hurt yourself."

"Mari? Is she okay?"

He nodded. "She's fine. She got home a couple hours ago. You were sleeping and just had a nightmare. It's over now.

"Oh, lord. I'm…so…broken." She'd been branded a slave by Lyle and her father. She'd done horrible things, but didn't want to have anyone touch her ever again. Yet, being held in Damián's strong arms felt so good. So safe.

He brushed the hair from her cheek, curling it behind her ear. "You're perfect for me,
mi sueño
."

The words, whispered in her ear, sounded so sincere. But she wasn't perfect. He deserved someone better. Someone whole. Not a broken, dirty slut like her.

She pulled away and searched his eyes. "I can't stay here any longer, Damián. Mari and I need to leave. Tonight."

The look of pain in his eyes hurt her, too, but she couldn't run the risk of Damián ever discovering her secret shame.

* * *

They were gone. Damián had wandered around the apartment for a week, feeling their presence everywhere he looked. Boots didn't help. The damned kitten missed them, too, and kept curling up on his lap. Damián polished off another Dos Equis and wiped away the moisture from his eyes. Fucking allergies. He reached down and petted the ball of fluff purring against his crotch.

Achoo!

Damián laid the kitten on the sofa beside him and carried his empty bottle to the kitchen. He opened the fridge to reach for another, but decided against it. Three were enough. He should just go to bed. Maybe he could get some sleep.

That would be a first. He had barely slept in a week.

Inside the bedroom, he looked at the bed, still rumpled from where Savi had had her nightmare last week. Had she figured out what he'd become? Dreamed about him? When she yelled for him not to touch her, he'd wondered, but thought she was still fighting whoever was in the dream. Then she'd demanded to go away. If she knew, it would be no big surprise she'd want to get away from him.

He'd avoided the bed all week, knowing it would make the separation even harder. He removed his clothes and the prosthesis and crawled into bed face down in the pillow that still carried her flowery, clean scent. He inhaled deeply, then rolled onto his side and grabbed the other pillow, hugging it to his chest.

Sleep claimed him…

“Madre de Dios! No! Sergeant, don’t you fucking die!”

He knew Sergeant Miller was gone, but kept yelling at him as if he could bring him back by the sheer volume of his voice. He looked up and watched as Grant and Wilson, on either side of him, lifted the body off him. Damián turned his head away, watching in horrific fascination as Sergeant’s blood ran down the rooftop toward Damián’s feet, where it mingled with another pool of blood. The one forming around his own mangled foot.

What the fuck?

On the bed in front of him, the Barbie doll from the restaurant was trussed up in a grotesque position. The soles of her feet were red. Her naturally blond pussy was splayed open for God and everyone to see. Red, angry welts covered her inner thighs. White nylon ropes suspended her knees in the air, attaching her to the headboard.

Her eyes were closed, but her face was red, with tracks of tears down both cheeks. The sight of her ravaged body tore at his gut.

Damián jumped off the bed, forgetting his foot had been blown off, and fell to his hands and knees. He needed to help Savannah. He needed to escape the rooftop. Damián scrambled away from the bed, his heart about to pound out of his chest.

He low-crawled on his forearms into the living room. Safety. But where was Savannah? How'd she wind up with him in Fallujah?

The demons followed. Blood. Sergeant's blood. Damián's blood. He wouldn't be able to keep the demons at bay.

Where the fuck was Savannah? He needed to save her.

Reality slapped him in the face and he huddled next to the sofa. He'd never mixed his nightmares like that before. He needed to regain control. Everything was so fucking out of his control right now.

Dad.

He reached for the cell phone on the coffee table and hit the speed dial. Glancing out the window, he saw it was daytime. How long had he slept? Was Savi okay? Marisol?

Fifteen minutes later, Damián answered the knock on the door.

"How are you doing, son?" Rock solid. Dad never let anything faze him. Damián wished he could be like that.

"I've been better. Sorry to bother you again, but—"

"Fuck that shit. If you hadn't called and I found out, you know I'd ream your ass but good."

Damián nodded and motioned him toward the couch, but Dad headed for the kitchen instead. "Let's get some Joe brewing first." Damián followed, but Dad had things under control, having been through this routine enough times, so Damián just sat at the table and held his head in his hands.

Every time he closed his eyes, his mind flashed images of that rooftop in Fallujah mixed with Savannah's battered, abused body in the hotel penthouse. What had triggered the latest episode?

Dad placed a mug of coffee in front of him and the smell of the strong brew brought him back to the present.

"Which particular nightmare are you dealing with right now?"

"Same old, but with a twist this time."

"Spill it."

Damián knew silence wasn't an option. Not a good one, anyway, if he valued his ass. These talks with Dad usually helped him process shit from a combat PTSD episode, but what the fuck was he supposed to do with that scene with Savannah?

"Now, not tomorrow."

Damián looked up at Dad. "How are they doing?"

Dad blinked, then seemed to follow his train of thought. "Fine. No school today. A professional-development day for the teachers, so Marisol and I played in the snow all morning."

Damián should have been the one playing with her in the snow. He'd been avoiding them all week, figuring Savi wanted nothing to do with him. She'd made it clear she didn't want to be around him when she'd moved in with Dad and Karla.

"Savi? Is she okay?"

"She's quiet and stays in her room a lot. I can't get a read on her. Plays it close to the vest."

"She doesn't like to let anyone get too close."

"Did the twist in this episode have something to do with her?"

Perceptive man
. Damián nodded. "One minute, I'm on that rooftop with Sergeant Miller, the next I'm finding Savannah—Savi—tortured and restrained in a hotel room. I froze. Both times."

"We've been through that before. You sure as hell didn't freeze in Fallujah, and I doubt you did with Savi either."

"Maybe not, but I hesitated. Waited too long trying to assess the situation. I could have gone in there and helped sooner, but didn't want to get involved."

"You're talking about Savi now."

Damián nodded. "They fucking tortured her. She was screaming and I kept thinking maybe it was consensual. I had a girlfriend once who liked that stuff."

"But you did rescue her, didn't you?"

"Yeah. Finally. But I sure didn't rescue Miller."

"No one could have."

"So what's the connection? Why am I being bombarded by my two worst nightmares now?"

"I think the two incidents are connected in your mind. You're feeling a loss of control."

Damn straight. "I'm not sure I ever had control."

"Sure you have. I'd hazard a guess you're the most controlled Dom I've ever known. Gunnar trained you well."

"Takes a survivor to know one, I guess."

"When you plan a scene at the club and execute it perfectly, giving the bottom what she needs, you're in total control."

"It's been a while."

"You've been missed, for sure, but you have to do what's best for you and those you love. I've never known anyone who could get his priorities straighter than you. Country. Family. Friends. Work. You just have a lot to juggle right now. Maybe being out of the club for months hasn't been a good thing, after all."

He'd certainly stayed on an even keel longer when he'd had regular scenes with pain sluts at the club. "How's Patti been doing?"

"There've been a couple times she probably could have used you, but we helped her and Victor work through it best we could. Even called Gunnar to town one time."

Guilt assailed him. Patti was a masochist who had come to expect Damián to be there when she needed him. Her partner, Victor, couldn't deliver the level of pain she needed during the dark times. Damián had fulfilled the role of sadistic Service Top for her many times.

He'd trained during the years before the club opened under the expertise of Gunnar Larson, the most highly respected sadistic Service Top and Whip Master in the area; owner of a club in a resort town west of Denver. But here at the Masters at Arms, there were only a few hardcore sadists who attended regularly. Damián was probably the most sought-after one, though, because a lot of the masochists had issues like Savi's. They didn't want some man getting turned on by their pain—they just wanted to work through a pain session and get on with their life. Being able to help Patti and others who needed him and his well-honed skills had given him a real sense of purpose, of being needed.

But the one woman he most wanted to help wouldn't let him near her. Rightly so. She'd been abused by a lot of sexual sadists and predators in the past. No wonder she'd run to Dad's place when he'd revealed Damián, too, was a sadist. She'd wanted nothing more to do with him.

"Why don't you come to the club tonight? I think you're due a visit."

Maybe that was what he needed. At least he knew he wouldn't run into Savi or Marisol there. Yeah, maybe it was time. If he could get into a scene in the dungeon, he might be able to regain some sense of control.

* * *

Savi stared out the bedroom window at the snowy scene below. A knock on the door sent her across the room. The bedroom she and Mari had been staying in the past week had had a calming effect on her, from its lavender-scented sheets to the antique walnut furniture. The room made her think of Maman.