If only

Chapter Six

On Tuesday night, Kari was sitting on the living room floor facing her son, Zane. His little face scrunched up in a grin. And his eyes looked so much like Dan’s that she felt as if her body couldn’t possibly contain all the love.

Her husband sprawled in his favorite chair behind her. On the sofa to the right, Dan’s FBI friend was idly petting her German shepherd. In total doggy heaven, Prince leaned against the man’s long legs to show his approval.

As the men talked quietly, Kari dropped a napkin over a small black-and-white plastic animal. “Where is the cow, Zane? Where did it go?”

Zane looked around, then with an almost audible click, he got it. With a squeal of glee, he pulled the napkin off the toy.

“Oh, aren’t you smart? Aren’t you the smartest, most gorgeous boy in the whole world?” She lifted her black-haired baby and blew raspberries on his tummy. The cascade of baby laughter made her heart feel as if it had been tenderized.

Vance grinned down at them.

She didn’t smile back. The agent was definitely a handsome man. And charming, as well. But after hearing from Jessica that Sally had safeworded out of a scene and then quit the Shadowlands entirely, Kari wasn’t feeling very friendly toward him. Sally was an experienced submissive and as sweet as could be, even if she was—how had Master Marcus put it?—as full of mischief as a basket of kittens. So the two Federal agents must have done something awful.

Holding a beer on his stomach, Vance stretched his legs out. “Now, loyalty forces me to say that my three nephews, naturally, take top prizes for smartest and most adorable, but Zane is right up there in fourth place.”

Dan laughed, and as always, the sound of his voice stroked over Kari’s skin like a fuzzy blanket. He could always make her yearn for him. If only she had the same effect on him.

She set Zane in her lap and kissed his baby-soft cheek, feeling clumsy and overweight and…ugly. She looked down at her clothes. Dumpy and boring. But after having Zane, she’d been so exhausted, emotional, and—face it—depressed, that it had been an effort to keep moving, to care for the baby. Being attractive had been low on the list. Having sex, even lower.

Although her depression had finally wafted away like dark clouds after a storm, she still felt ugly. The weight she’d gained during her pregnancy hadn’t disappeared, her stomach was on the flabby side and had acquired a fine set of stretch marks.

Dan spent his days in a life-altering, dangerous world with beautiful, intelligent women. She spent her days babbling at a baby.

She knew he was tied up with work; she shouldn’t feel as if he was neglecting her. But…if she was more attractive or sexier, would he be home more?

“He looks like a miniature of you, Dan,” Vance said. “Nice job.”

“Kari did all the work,” Dan said. “I was just along for the ride.”

She managed to summon a sweet smile for him before stacking blocks so Zane could push them over. “I’m going to take Zane upstairs once your game starts. I don’t want him corrupted by all the swearing if some poor player misses a pitch.”

Dan snorted, then asked Vance, “Is Kouros joining us?”

“In a bit. He was tiling the kitchen backsplash and wanted to finish.”

“You two have your work cut out for you with that old house.”

Kari agreed silently. After the two agents had bought the place last February, she and Dan had visited. Dan had come right out and said it: “What a dump.” But maybe that was what they deserved.

“True enough,” Vance said. “But some days, I like having something to pound on.”

“Yeah,” Dan said under his breath. He’d understand, she knew. He wasn’t assigned to the FBI agents’ slave-trafficking project, but he kept informed and helped where he could.

Watching Kari restack the blocks, Dan frowned. “You look tired, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine.” To shift Dan’s attention away—and because she couldn’t be openly rude to her husband’s guest—she said to Vance, “I don’t know if you’d be interested, but did you know Sally quit the trainees? And the Shadowlands as well?” And you’re one of the jerks who drove her away.

“She quit?” Vance stared at her before turning to Dan. “Is she fucking kidding?”

“Nope. Z called last night. Today, I caught up to Sally at work and—”

“What work?”

“She’s interning in the station’s computer department—concentrating on fraud. Good at it too.”

Vance nodded. “She mentioned digital forensics. So what’d she say about quitting?”

“Some bullshit about being too busy with graduation. That she wasn’t planning to stay in the area.”

“Hell. We pushed her too far. Too fast.” Vance’s concerned expression softened Kari’s heart. Slightly. “We told Z afterward. Z should’ve been the one to work with her. Or someone who knew her better.”

“Maybe. But you two were the ones who saw her clearly enough to notice all those defenses. Seemed logical you should continue.” Dan took a long, slow drink of his beer. “Your questions shouldn’t have provoked such an extreme reaction.”

Kari frowned down at the blocks and guided Zane’s hand to stack a block of his own. She’d just sit here and see what explanations the Dom came up with.

VANCE SILENTLY WATCHED Dan’s wife play with her son. Maybe what Dan said was true. The guilt didn’t decrease any. All they’d wanted to do was help; instead, they’d made her problem worse.

He felt his jaw muscles grind his teeth together. The thought that they’d damaged that bright, spirited submissive so much that she’d fled the Shadowlands made him want to put his fist through the wall. True, he wanted only short-term relationships, but for the time during a scene, the submissive was his. And he—and Galen—had screwed up.

“I talked to Z after I spoke to her,” Dan said. “He’s feeling fucking guilty himself. Says he’ll hold off until after her commencement, but then they’ll have a long chat whether she likes it or not.”

Vance wasn’t sure he had that amount of patience. He and Galen had been the ones to screw up; he needed to make it right.

Or would seeing him just make everything worse for her?

Fuck.

Sally took a long, very hot shower, scrubbing and shampooing to erase the stench of violent death. What an absolutely crummy day.

First, Dan had shown up in her department and asked why she’d dropped her Shadowlands membership. Despite what she’d thought was a perfectly fine answer, his expression said he knew she was bullshitting. He’d never looked at her that way before, as if he didn’t trust her to tell the truth. Like he really was a cop and she was a criminal.

But too bad. He didn’t have any right to question her; she wasn’t a trainee anymore.

Next week after graduation, she’d still go see Kari. Their place was just a nice walk away, in the residential section. But she’d make really sure Dan wasn’t home.

Right after he’d left, the crime scene guys had asked for her help on scene at a homicide. The victim had an intricate computer setup that needed to be dismantled and taken back to the station. Honestly, when she’d first thought about getting into the field of digital forensics, she’d assumed the computers or drives or memory sticks would be delivered to her at the police station. Her plans hadn’t included working in a room where there were dead bodies. And blood. Everywhere.

Just the memory had her stomach doing an I’m-going-to-puke dance. After a few deep breaths, she dried off and pulled on her favorite dark red silky pajamas, then her fluffy blue robe. The ankle-length, shabby garment was her comfort garment, and she needed it this evening. Her tiny apartment seemed far too empty.

Then again, empty was better than sharing with a jerk. Kicking Frank out had been a most excellent decision.

I wish I had someone, though. Even a pet.

With an effort, she pushed away the memory of Vance’s arms around her, of Galen stroking her hair. Such assholes. They’d ruined the scene with stupid questions…and now they were ruining her evening by making her crave them. She scowled and tried to forget how they’d paid attention to…everything.

To her.

She shook herself. Get over it.

In the main room of her apartment, she hesitated. Normally, she’d jump into World of Warcraft and do some fighting. Vanquish evil. Assuming she didn’t get slaughtered, she’d return to real-time victorious. Having saved the town or whatever, she’d be a heroine, which was the best feeling in the world.

But not today. No blood. No death today.

Instead, she brewed a pot of chamomile tea and settled into a corner of the couch with her Kindle. On the screen saver was a boring picture of some author. Maybe she’d put a cute kitten there instead. And hack into the software and set up a routine so the kitten would meow at the device’s startup. A virtual pet would be better than no pet.

Slowly, the sounds of her apartment settled around her. The hum of the old refrigerator in the opposite corner, the drip of the faucet in the bathroom. From the apartment above drifted classical music. Beethoven. Rather sedate, but easier on the ears than the acid metal the previous tenant had enjoyed. The thin walls meant she could hear Joanna’s cranky baby on one side and the chugging of Harvey’s dishwasher on the other. Wasn’t it strange how the sounds could be annoying one day and so very reassuring the next?

She sighed. The last time she’d walked over to Dan’s house, she’d played with baby Zane while Kari cleaned up the kitchen. The rattle of dishes had reminded her so much of Mama that the surge of homesickness had almost laid her flat. After her mother had died, that feeling of…safety?…love?…had disappeared forever.

Sipping her tea, she pulled up a nice historical romance to read. Tomorrow, she could worry about the two job offers she’d received and go through another set of the ugly Harvest Association e-mails. Tonight, she’d keep herself firmly in a fictional past. With a happy yawn, she settled in to read.

“Sally.”

The voice percolated through her dreams, and she blinked. Geez, she’d totally fallen asleep. Lifting her head, she saw her e-reader had fallen to the floor. Above the television, the wall clock read just before eleven at night. She pushed her hair out of her face as she sat up and froze.

Frank stood at the other end of the couch, staring down at her.

“What are you doing here?” Annoyance burned away her grogginess. She rose to her feet. “How did you get in?”

“Made a spare.” He tauntingly waggled a key before shoving it in his jeans pocket. “I need to talk to you.”

My life sucks. “It’s late, Frank. Give my key back and go home.” She stopped in front of him and held her hand out.

He shoved her away and stomped toward the tiny kitchenette in the far corner. “You got anything to drink?”

“Hey!” Had she really thought his pushy attitude was sexy? “There’s nothing we have to talk about. We’re over. And I’m tired.” She opened the apartment door and made a shooing motion.

His face turned a dusky red. “Get your ass over here, bitch.”

God, being infatuated had sure blinded her. How could she ever have let him talk to her like that? Let him treat her like dirt? Master Z would be so disappointed she couldn’t tell the difference between a caring Dom and a nasty control freak. Well, better late than never. “No. Just leave, dammit.”

Moving faster than she expected, he grabbed her hair, yanked her out of the doorway, and kicked the door shut behind him.

She scratched his face with her nails, pulled in a breath to scream, and he backhanded her across the face.

As pain burst in her cheek, tears flooded her eyes, blurring the room. Shock held her immobile.

“Now that I have your attention…” The sloppy smirk on his face gave him away. He’d been drinking. He shoved her toward the couch.

Her insides tightened. Frank was a mean drunk. During their negotiations before he moved in, she’d made him agree that if he drank, he’d stay somewhere else for the night. She hadn’t thought alcohol would become a problem…but then he’d lost his job.

She touched her burning cheek and felt liquid. Blood. The skin had been torn by his ring.

Her heart started to hammer. Okay, smarty, how do you get out of this? Gritting her teeth, she shoved her emotions down, a talent she’d mastered as a child and never lost. Men didn’t want an emotional woman, no matter what those stupid Feebs said. “What did you want to say to me?” she asked politely.

And why the hell didn’t she have something useful like a baseball bat or stun gun in her living room. Definitely shortsighted.

“There. That’s my sunny girl.” He smiled at her, proud he’d made her do what he wanted.

And he had. Could she hit him with the lamp? No, the cord would slow her down. Her cell phone was in her purse.

“Stay there.” As he headed for the kitchenette, he bumped into the armchair—and that set him off again.

Sally winced as he kicked the chair across the room. “Stop it!”

He didn’t even seem to hear her. The coffee table followed and hit the wall with a crunch. One leg broke. Beside the couch, her cup lay on the carpet next to her Kindle. Frank glared at the e-reader. “That thing. Always more important than me.” He lifted his foot to stomp on it.

Not my books! “No!” She shoved him away.

Losing his balance, he staggered sideways and tripped over the overturned coffee table. His landing shook the floor.

Oh shit.

With her foot, she slid her Kindle under the couch. “Frank, you need to leave before you get in all sorts of trouble. Remember where I work?”

He sat up. “You hit your Master.”

Her father had turned that purple color when enraged, but he’d never hurt her. Much. Frank, however… Fear slid cold ice into her belly, but living with her father and brother had also taught her—never show fear. Her voice came out level. “I’m sorry, but you’re not my Master any more. Remember?”

Ominously silent, he pushed to his feet. He stood between her and the door, blocking her escape. “You need to learn. Need to learn…”

She retreated. Not much choice. He was a foot taller and outweighed her by a hundred pounds. Why the hell hadn’t she picked self-defense for one of her electives?

A grizzly bear in a black T-shirt, he lumbered toward her, leaving destruction in his wake. The pictures on the television stand, candlesticks…each item that she’d saved up to buy, carefully chosen.

He’d break her next.

Not enough space to get past him to the door. No chance to get to her phone. Her heart pounded wildly, trying to escape the cage of her ribs. She’d misjudged—he wouldn’t stop until he hurt her. She had neighbors. Maybe…

She yelled with all her might, “Get away from me! Help!” And then she screamed, high and long.

He lunged for her, and she dodged. Then dodged again. Stall.

“Frank. Listen, we need to talk about this.” She sounded hoarse. Terrified.

Stopping, he panted and glared. “Don’t think so.”

Maybe she could circle around toward the door. The blood seemed to be pounding in her head as she backpedaled toward the back where her bed was.

He lunged, sweeping his arms before him. The crash of her television made her pause. A second too long.

She ducked a punch aimed at her face. Stepping forward, she punched, trying to hit his throat. Arms too short. He grabbed her hand and nailed her right in the stomach. The shock hit first—she couldn’t inhale—and then the pain exploded.

As she staggered back, he grabbed her. No. Blinded by tears, she punched. Got his shoulder. Tried to knee him.

Rather than hitting his balls, her knee thumped his thigh. With a roar, he threw her across the room. She tried to catch herself. Her ankle twisted with a horrible stab of pain. As she fell, her back smacked into the side of her desk.

Half sitting, she shook her head. No birds tweeted like in the cartoons; she heard only a roaring in her ears.

He stalked toward her, his hands opening and closing into fists. “Cops won’t get here in time for—”

The pounding on her door halted his advance.

“Sally? Sally! You okay?” Harvey’s voice came from the hall.

“Get the manager. He’s got a key.” Joanna’s voice was high and terrified.

The old lady across the way quavered, “I called the police. They said—”

“Fuck!” Frank kicked.

She twisted so his boot smashed into her left hip rather than her ribs. Sobbing with pain, she rolled blindly. Escape. Get away.

Voices spilled into the room. Grabbing the lamp from the end table as a weapon, Frank shouted at her neighbors, keeping them from entering the apartment. No one was big enough to take on the brute.

Yelling and yelling. A standoff. Frank sounded more and more out of control.

She needed to do something before her friends were hurt. “Don’t—” She tried to push to her feet. A knife seemed to stab into her ankle, and her leg gave out. She landed on her right side so hard that her head went all blurry.

“Let me pass.” The unfamiliar voice had an effect.

The shouting died away into silence.

Sally lifted her head.

A uniformed police officer stood in the doorway, confronting Frank. Her neighbors had retreated. “Sir, you need to—”

“Get the hell out of here,” Frank roared, brandishing a heavy iron lamp. “My girlfriend and I are just talking.”

He’s lying. Don’t go. Don’t leave me here. “No.” Her voice came out only a whisper.

The police officer held up his hand. “I’m sorry, sir, but you—”

“Fuck diplomacy.” Dan pushed past the cop and walked into the room. Frank swung the lamp like a baseball bat.

Dan blocked, grabbed the lamp, and used it to swing Frank at the two men who’d just walked in.

The darker one sidestepped.

The other—Vance—caught Frank, twisted gracefully, and slammed him face-first into the wall so violently that the pictures rattled. The lamp dropped to the floor with a nasty thud.

“Nice catch, Buchanan,” Dan said, pulling out a set of handcuffs.

Sally’s breathing faltered as she took in the miracle of a rescue.

Despite his position, his face pressed against the wall, Frank yelled. “Fuck you. She’s mine. Fucking cops.”

Chills swept across her body as she listened. As she tried to find some strength to move.

Galen stalked across the room toward her, his eyes black with fury.

Angry with her? She tried to roll over so she could sit up and gasped as daggers of pain stabbed through her hip, her shoulder…everywhere. She moaned.

“Hold on, Sally.” He went down on his knee. “Stay put while I see how bad you’re hurt.”

Too close. On her back, she couldn’t defend, couldn’t…do anything. “No.” She struggled wildly, trying to sit up.

“Ah.” His eyes softened. “Easy, pet. Let me help you.” Putting an arm behind her back, he raised her to a sitting position.

The moan that escaped her gritted teeth was humiliating. Gradually the sparkles blurring her vision cleared so she could make out Galen’s face.

“Why are you—” She tried to pull away. She hadn’t called him, had she? No, she didn’t have his number. Dan must have. But now Galen must think she was selfish. And he was so mad. “I’m sorry. I didn’t ask—”

“Shhh. I’m not upset with you, Sally.” He didn’t let go but closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath. The anger faded from his face.

She relaxed slightly, leaning back against the leg of the desk.

“Just sit still for a minute, so I can check how badly you’re hurt.” He used a corner of her pajamas to apply pressure to her cheek, holding her firmly when she tried to pull away. “Anything broken?”

Surely not. “No.”

“How about I take a look, sweetheart?” Vance knelt beside her. His intensely blue eyes were calm and so, so reassuring. He quickly ran his hands over her skull, then her neck and back. His gaze never left her face. He checked her shoulders and arms, not stopping at her flinches. “Right shoulder a little sore, but so far, so good.”

But his fingers on her stomach made her suck in a pained inhalation.

“Caught one in the gut, did you?”

“It’s getting better,” she said. And it was. She could draw in a real breath.

And had started to relax. Frank had stopped screaming. That helped. Having Galen and Vance beside her helped even more. Even if they were angry with her, they’d never let anyone hurt her. She knew that.

Vance pressed over her right hip, then her left—and she flinched, then had to endure more probing.

“Bruised—didn’t bust it, as far as I can tell.” Vance moved his hands down her legs.

At the blast of agony when he squeezed her left ankle, she barely smothered a scream.

“There too.” Vance traced around the area. “Starting to swell.”

“Did a number on her face,” Galen muttered. He lifted the corner of her pajama top to show Vance her cheek.

“Looks like the bleeding has stopped,” Vance said.

“Ayuh.”

“Ready to get off the floor, sweetie?” Without waiting for her answer, Vance simply picked her up.

The movement made her dizzy, and the pain overwhelmed her. Rather than protesting, she buried her face against his shoulder. His white T-shirt was well-worn and soft. Each breath brought her the clean scent of laundry detergent and a hint of his aftershave.

He carried her so easily, and his strength was even more reassuring than the presence of the police officer. After a few moments, she lifted her head.

Hands cuffed behind his back, Frank was talking—loudly—to Dan and the cop. “Yes, my name is Frank Borup. It’s right there on my driver’s license. No, I haven’t been arrested before.” He gave Dan a smile. “I’m sorry about overreacting. This is all a big misunderstanding.”

Could he charm his way out of this? She shuddered. Frank could be awfully convincing. Look how well he’d taken her in. She pulled herself together.

“No. There’s no misunderstanding,” she said in a loud voice. “He let himself into my apartment with a key he’d made without my knowledge.”

Dan’s eyes narrowed. He muttered to the other cop, “Make sure we get that from him.”

“He hit me and kicked me and broke…” Hearing her voice shake, she stopped. Vance’s arms around her tightened, lending her strength. She said firmly, “Arrest him. I’ll file charges.”

“Sally. You’re being foolish,” Frank said. “You—”

Dan jerked his head at the uniformed officer. “You know the drill. Get him out of sight and hearing.”

“Yes, sir.”

Yelling protests, Frank was escorted into the hallway.

“We need an ambulance for her?” Dan asked.

Sally’s voice came out a whine. “No. I’m fine.”

“I’ll have her checked out in the ER,” Vance said.

Dan nodded. “Make sure they know to document everything. I’ll send someone to get her statement.”

“Right.”

“But, I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

Vance looked down at her. “You can skip the ambulance, but not the emergency room. I want your ankle checked out, if nothing else.”

“What about afterward?” Dan asked.

After the ER, she’d come back here. Sally turned her head to look at the destruction of her cozy apartment, and tears blurred the sight of broken furniture, glass glittering in the carpet. No longer a refuge.

Not even safe. She’d have to pay the manager to change the locks—who knew how many copies Frank had made. She shuddered. What if they let him out and he came back here?

She could stay somewhere else. But her friends had duties, work, families, and taking her in would be a horrible imposition. And what if he followed her to their house?

No, she couldn’t take the risk that someone else would be hurt.

If only she had family she could call…but she didn’t. Misery slid into her heart like a knife of ice.

But she’d manage. She always had. After blinking the blur from her eyes, she lifted her chin. “I can manage. Don’t worry about it.”

THE LITTLE SUB was like a cornered feral kitten, Galen thought. Despite her trembling, she was still hissing and spitting defiance. Yet, her big eyes had such a lost look that he wanted to simply hold her and promise she’d never be hurt again.

“Shhh.” Galen couldn’t keep from touching her. As he brushed her hair from her face, the purpling bruise on her cheekbone was exposed. His gaze met Vance’s to find a similar fury. “You’re going to need someone to take care of you for day or two, pet.”

“I don’t—”

“You have two choices,” Vance told her. “After the ER, I’ll either drop you off at one of your friends, or you’ll stay at our house for the night.” He smiled down at her. “To sleep and recover only.”

“Pick one, pet,” Galen prompted. If she chose a friend, he’d call and give them a quick rundown.

Vance’s expression was as gentle as Galen had ever seen it. “Sally, you can trust us, you know.”

She looked at each of them. “You won’t…push…me?”

Galen wanted to hit something. They’d fucked up during that session. “No, baby girl. No pushing.”

She glanced at the doorway through which the perp had disappeared, and the shudder that shook her small body made Galen want to kill the bastard. But her nod of acceptance was one of the finest rewards Galen had ever received. Even if she’d fled from them before, there was still trust there.

Vance kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, sweetie.” He glanced at Galen. “You’ll wind up matters here?”

“Ayuh.” He’d kept an ear on the bullshit that the perp—Frank Borup—was spouting. Some damage control might be needed.

“You can put me down now,” Sally said to Vance.

So independent. She was trembling and holding Vance’s shirt with a death grip, and still demanding to stand on her own feet. By God, she was something.

Vance merely smiled—patient bastard that he was. “I’ll put you down in the car. Galen will lock up for you after everyone leaves.”

Her whispered thank you was heartbreaking.

Vance brushed his lips over her hair and carried her out.

As the uniform brought the Borup bastard back into the apartment, the neighbors crowded around the open door.

Considering the crew had been willing to take on the bulky asshole for Sally, Galen didn’t give a fuck if they got a thrill by listening in. With a sigh, he leaned against the wall. His knee ached like a son of a bitch. But he wanted to see this through.

In the midst of the destruction, the uniform was checking for prior arrests.

Seated at the small kitchenette table, Dan was taking the Borup bastard’s statement. The detective’s expression turned to granite.

Galen’s attention sharpened.

“Yeah, I know it looks bad. But hey, we were just playing a little rough.” Borup’s expression was so sincere that Galen thought he might puke. “My girlfriend likes that. Asks for it.”

Time to shut him up before he damaged the little sub’s reputation with her neighbors. This was Dan’s town and he had rules to follow, but Bastard Borup wasn’t connected to any of Galen’s cases. He strolled over to stand beside Dan.

Hands still cuffed, Borup was seated sideways on a kitchen chair. Good-looking enough, muscular, and a complete asshole. What had Sally been thinking?

“She’s my slave,” Borup protested. “She wants me to treat her like—”

Galen’s snort of disgust turned the man’s attention to him. “I’ve had a fair amount of women who like calling themselves a ‘slave’—especially since that Fifty Shades crap. Women are funny that way, and judges know that. There’s no law against wanting to serve someone.” Galen crossed his arms over his chest. “Unfortunately for you, there are laws against slavery. And even more laws against beating the crap out of someone if you’re drunk. Especially a girl half your size. Especially since she broke up with you”— what had Z said?—“over a month ago.”

“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.

He’d give her that hug if she asked. But at the thought of actually doing so, her brain just…stopped. Her insides tightened, her mind retreating at the thought of opening herself to ask for anything.

Galen curled his arm around her waist and pulled her against him firmly, despite the way she startled. His voice was a rich growl in her ear; his breath ruffled her hair. “Sleep, Sally. You’ll have time in the morning to stew about everything.”

Snuggled in compassion, embraced in safety, she let herself slide away.