His Secrets

Part Four Games

As I enter the Hive, Amber instantly tears up, a sob escaping her throat, her head dropping between her shoulders. And, as much as it shreds me to know how truly lost she is, anger dominates my mood. Anger at myself for letting this happen. Anger at Isabel for feeding Amber’s behavior. And anger at Amber for not fighting for more than this misery. But I don’t go there. She’s Tristan’s woman to save, and Isabel is my problem to handle.

I move toward the battle between Isabel and Tristan, placing myself between them, facing Isabel. She glares at me, her eyes cutting like blue diamonds. “I told you he wasn’t welcome here. This is my club and my rules. He will be removed.” She tries to step around me, toward the intercom on the wall.

I shackle her arm and she whirls around, surprise replacing the anger in her eyes. “Amber’s his woman,” I say. “Don’t even think about interfering with him taking her out of here.”

She smirks, arrogance and hatred in her eyes. “That’s the biggest joke I’ve heard since you not needing the whip. She’s more mine than she was ever his.”

“You make it about you, Isabel—but to the rest of us, you’re just one of many who can handle a whip.”

Fury fills her face and she slaps me. I grind my teeth against the sting but I don’t flinch. My lips quirk with amusement. “Another reason you’re nothing more than a whip. You have no real control.”

She slaps me again, and I’ve had it with the bitch. I capture her waist, lifting her and, ignoring her protests, I set her in front of the dungeon stock. “Down,” I order, using my knees to buckle hers and shove her to a squat.

“What are you doing?” she demands, trying to turn, but I brace her shoulders with my hands, locking her down. Panic lifts in her voice. “Chris, stop! What are you doing?”

I lift the top half of the dungeon stock and, pressing my hand to the back of her head, shove her neck into the chamber, then drop the top into place. A moment later I’m kneeling in front of her and, too gently for what she deserves, I grab her hair, tugging her face upward.

“You can’t do this,” she hisses.

“I just did. And if I find out Amber is let back into any of your clubs, I’ll use my substantial financial resources to shut them all down.”

“And then where will you be, mon amour, when you need me again?” she taunts.

“I told you: anyone can hold a whip, Isabel. You were just the one I didn’t have to have sex with.”

“Piece of shit!” she blasts in English. “You aren’t the only one with resources. There are powerful people who come to me, who’ll protect me. They’ll make you pay for this.”

“They might blink at your threats, but I won’t. After what I saw today with Amber, even if I let you stay open, we’ll be discussing the terms in which you operate.”

“I discuss nothing with you.”

“We’ll see about that. We’ll let someone know you require assistance after we’re out of the club without interference. Feel free to scream for help, though no one will hear in this soundproof room. Poetic justice, considering you try so hard to get people to beg for mercy—don’t you think?”

“She came to me wanting the same escape you begged for, and I gave it to her. What have you given her?”

“You,” I say. “And I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

I push to my feet to find Amber has been cut free and Tristan is standing in front of her, his big body covering hers. I return to the exit, where I’ve left the woman I love to witness this insanity.

My steps quicken, and just the idea that she won’t be there is absolutely gutting me. I yank open the door, and Sara is there immediately, looking haunted, her pale skin a striking contrast to her long dark hair.

We stare at each other, the air thickening between us, and I feel Sara like I do my own soul, and I need to protect her. Though I know that opening her eyes is protecting her, it’s all I can do not to throw her over my shoulder and carry her out of here.

“Stop it, Amber! Stop!”

At Tristan’s deep command, I turn to find a still-naked Amber running toward Isabel, clearly intending to free her. Tristan shackles her wrist and she whirls on him, raking her fingers down his face and then slamming a fist into his groin. Tristan grunts, buckles at the middle, and goes down hard to one knee. Amber sobs and sinks down beside him, curling into a fetal position.

Anticipating that Sara will try to help, I reach for her arm at the same moment she starts forward. “No, baby. I know you want to help, but she could hurt you. I need to deal with her.”

Her eyes meet mine and she says, “Just get us all out here, Chris. Just . . . do what you have to do.”

In that moment, she is strength and she is beautiful in that way she never sees, but I do. “Stay back and don’t let the door slam, or you’ll be locked out again.”

She nods and I move toward Amber.

Tristan has shaken off his pain enough to lift his head. “I’m done. She’s yours to survive, if you can.”

In that moment, I know Amber has played us all. She knew how to get Tristan to call me. She knew there was a good chance I’d bring Sara if I came here. And she damn sure knew she could push Tristan to his limit, forcing me into playing hero while Sara watched. For a moment I think we’re all enabling her by participating, and I consider walking out the door and leaving her here—but I can’t. Not when I played a role in creating her. But what she doesn’t know is that Tristan isn’t the only one at his limit. I am, too. I won’t allow her to continue on this path anymore.

I go to Amber and bend down beside her, picking her up and rising to my feet. She curls into my chest and whispers, “I’m sorry, Chris. I’m so sorry,” so that Tristan, who is the one who deserves the apology, can hear her. And I have never felt as shitty, or ready to shake sense into her, as I am now.

Trying to make this as easy on everyone as possible, I quickly leave the room and start down the hallway with its numerous doorways leading to playrooms. I cut to the left and head to Isabel’s private quarters.

Opening the door, automatic lights flicker to a dim glow as I shove through the sheer curtain Isabel uses for effect. Walking forward, I barely glance at the various “play” areas around the room, stopping at the centerpiece of the room—the massive bed, covered with white fur.

Setting Amber down, I drag a blanket around her and then step away. She sits up, remarkably dry-eyed as she lets the blanket fall away. Still manipulating. Still playing games. “Get dressed, Amber,” I order shortly, my eyes locked with hers. “When you do, we’ll decide how to get you home, where we’ll talk. I’m pretty sure Tristan won’t be giving you a ride.” Seeing how unaffected she seems infuriates me. “He deserves better than how you just treated him.”

Her chin lifts defiantly, not a tear in sight. “Like I deserved better?”

“Yes,” I say tightly. “Like you did. Only I didn’t do what I did to you intentionally. Evidently, the same doesn’t apply with you for Tristan.” Ready to be out of here, I start for the door.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” she cries out. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

I pause, hoping she means it, but I don’t know what to believe anymore. “I’m not sure it matters anymore. He’s pretty done from what I can tell, and I don’t blame him.” I continue toward the door.

She shouts after me, “You don’t get it! You don’t even see! I’m done! I’m the one who’s done!”

She has no idea how right she is. Somehow, some way, after tonight, I’ll make sure she’s done playing these games. I only hope that some semblance of the person she once was can still be salvaged.

Leaving the room and pulling the door shut behind me, I’m surprised to find Tristan standing there in the hallway, and concerned that Sara isn’t with him. As I glance around, he says, “She’s still in the Hive.”

I’m not comforted by Sara’s being left alone with Isabel, but he continues, “You need to know that I checked out with Amber a long time ago.”

My gaze traces the red, angry scratches down his cheek. “Then why are you still here?”

“Because I was sure I was the one thing that kept her from self-destructing. I’m not anymore, and I need out before I go down with her.”

He’s become who I was with Amber, or maybe it’s who he’s always been with her. Maybe that’s all she allows anyone to be. “Then get out before you do.”

“If only it were so easy.” His expression tightens. “She threatened suicide.”

That hits me hard, Amber’s shouts of “You don’t understand” and “I’m the one who is done” taking on new meaning. “When?” I ask. “And has she ever done this before?”

“Tonight, and no, never before. I would have said something.”

“And the trigger was what?”

“When I told her I’d leave her and the tattoo parlor if she came here, and she knew I meant it. Was it manipulation? Maybe. But the bottom line is that she’s spiraling, and I can’t control where it leads.”

I inhale a heavy breath and let it out. “Then we have to check her into a treatment center. I’ll make calls and see if we can admit her tonight.”

“She won’t agree.”

“If we fear for her safety, I’m not sure she has to. But we need to get out of here before we can do anything. I’ll wait in the observation room in case you need me. Call or text me before you leave, and I’ll make sure Sara and I are gone before you pass through.”

“I’ll do my best,” he says, pushing off the wall. “But she’s not predictable.”

“Understood. I’ll be ready to move fast. Just do what you can.”

He gives a nod and then enters Isabel’s chambers, and I head to the Hive. Shoving the door open, I pause in the entryway, holding my breath.

Sara stands in the center of the room, directly behind the still-captive Isabel, and she’s holding the whip.

I slowly move forward, between her and Isabel. She doesn’t look at me. She just stares down at the thick leather that dangles to the ground, and I’m certain she’s thinking of the day she’d found me in Mark’s club being beaten, and then falling to her knees in front of me. She was never supposed to see me that way. She won’t ever see me that way again.

“Sara,” I say softly, a gentle command in my voice willing her to look at me.

Her gaze lifts sharply to mine. “You aren’t this whip. We are not this whip.”

My hand closes over hers on the whip. “I know.”

“No. You don’t.”

“Smart girl,” Isabel purrs. “Smarter than you, mon cher.”

Sara jerks back and steps around me, lifting the whip, her wrist cocked to use it. Grabbing her wrist, I insert myself back between her and Isabel, and in this instant I fear for Sara and for us, more than I ever have. “It’s not worth it. She’s not worth it.”

Her lips and hands quiver. “She needs to feel what she makes other people feel.”

“She won’t do it,” Isabel taunts. “She’s too weak and submissive.”

Sara takes a step forward, and I shackle one of her legs with my knees. “Don’t listen to her,” I warn. “This isn’t you, Sara, and you’ll regret it.”

She starts to tremble all over and her eyes glaze. “I just . . .” She presses her free hand to her face. “I just . . .” She looks at me. “She makes me . . . angry.”

“I know,” I murmur, taking the whip from her and dropping it to the ground, then lacing my fingers with hers and leading her toward the holding room.

“He’ll always need a whip,” Isabel snaps. “Anything else is a lie.”

Those words follow us into the other room, and I can almost feel the fear they create in Sara, but there is too much to say, and too little time, before Amber and Tristan become an issue. The instant we’re inside the private viewing room, I turn Sara to me.

“Before we leave I need to make a call here, where we’re not monitored, but we have to be ready to move. Tristan’s trying to get Amber out of here. He’s supposed to call me before they leave, but she’s still volatile. I can’t be sure we’ll have much warning.”

“Can’t you make the call outside?”

“No, once we leave, we’d need Isabel to let us back inside. Amber threatened suicide, Sara. We need to stay close in case Tristan needs us.”

She blanches. “Oh, God. Now it all makes sense. She’s acting out, crying for help, and I did nothing.”

“What? Sara, this isn’t on you.”

“Yes, it is. Even if it’s subconsciously, I sensed this in her. You and Tristan were too close to this to see it. I think I was the stranger who she thought might listen, and I didn’t hear her.”

I did this, yet she’s blaming herself—a prime example of a lifetime of self-blame working her over, and an example of why I’m so damn certain she’s a step from the edge I can’t let her take. I pull her to me. “This is on me, baby. Not you. Tristan was right. I stayed in her life out of guilt, and became a crutch, not a solution.” I kiss her forehead. “Watch for Amber.” I pull out my phone. “I’m going to get my attorney to arrange a treatment center for Amber, with check-in tonight if possible.”

“Good.” She steps to the window, hugging herself, the self-blame radiating off her, and I know I was right. Rebecca, and even the Ella situation, have influenced every interaction with Amber. She wants to save the world. I need to save her, right after I save Amber.

I dial my attorney, who thankfully answers and is quick to instruct me and then go to work. “Well?” she prods when I hang up.

“He had another client who had to commit his daughter. He’s pulling some strings at that facility. He says that since Amber threatened suicide, we can get her committed for observation, but it won’t guarantee she stays in treatment. We need her agreement for that.”

“That’s not going to be easy.” She glances at the window. “Shouldn’t they be leaving by now?”

“Yeah. I’m concerned.” I dial Tristan, who doesn’t answer, and I grimace. “I’m starting to think I need to check on them.”

“Won’t someone miss Isabel?”

“Not when she has company.” My phone beeps and I grab it and glance down to read what Tristan has written: I convinced her to leave by telling her you were meeting us at our house. We’re on our way out of here now.

Slipping my phone back in my pocket, I glance up at Sara. “Tristan and Amber are headed our way.” I take her hand to head to the doorway, but I can’t shake the sting of Isabel’s accusations. “Sara, about Isabel—”

She kisses me. “I’m okay,” she promises, but the crack in her voice and the shadows in her eyes when she pulls back tell me she’s not even close to okay. And I’m not sure we are, either.