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A growl answered her seconds before he appeared at her side.  I don t think so.
She shrugged.  I have to go home.
 Your home is here.
She grabbed the last shirt from the closet and knelt down to slide it into her bag.
She didn t have much, only the things she d had with her that evening at the hotel. God,
it seemed so far away and yet it had only been weeks. So much had happened since
then, though&
 No. I already have a home. I have a house and friends. I need to contact my
mother and remind her I m alive. I have to find a job because I have bills to pay. I need
to 
 Things you could do from here.
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A Question of Trust
She looked up from her position on the floor.  You re being deliberately obtuse,
Dylan. This& interlude was nice, but now that I m feeling better, I have to go.
 You don t have to, he countered, crossing his arms over his chest like he always
did when he was feeling belligerent.  Let me take care of you.
 I m fine. Standing up and wincing a little at the pain lancing up her arm, she
added,  I m not going to stay here and do nothing all day just because you want me to
be your slave.
 Is being my submissive such a bad life then?
She rubbed her forehead and sighed.  No, of course not. Hell, I don t know
anything about this lifestyle, but you re a great Master. I just can t do this. I have a life
and I need to return to it.
 What about us? he murmured then, breaking her hard-won control.
 Don t. Please.
 I won t let you go so easily, pet. You re mine now.
 I was yours and look what that got you!
 You re the one who were shot, Maxine.
 I deserved it, she muttered under her breath. Taking a deep breath, she leaned
down, grabbed her suitcase and left the room.
 You re really going to do this? he called out.
She didn t stop, couldn t stop. Hoping he wouldn t notice what she d left on the bed
stand until much, much later, Max walked downstairs and out of the house. With some
luck, the taxi she d called earlier would be waiting at the end of the driveway.
It took her hours to get home, and by the time she opened her front door, she was
so tired she was only minutes away from passing out. She wouldn t even think how
she d had to max out her last credit card so she could buy a plane ticket.
Dumping her bag into the front hallway, she staggered to the den and fell in a heap
onto the sofa. There, as darkness engulfed her, she curled up into a small ball and let the
tears come.
She cried for herself, for Dylan, for the life she d lost. She had no one else to blame
but herself and it hurt. It hurt so damn much. But what hurt the most was that he hadn t
followed her. It was stupid, but she d really expected him to fight more for her.
Maybe he didn t care that much. Maybe all he d wanted was a slave, any slave.
Cold, but uncaring, she closed her eyes and let herself embrace the darkness creeping in
on her.
* * * * *
Dylan stared at the man it d taken him two weeks to track down to a tiny village in
Mexico, combining his money and Joe s contacts.
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Emma Hillman
The man wore a dirty Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. He was half-leaning against
the bar, trying to flirt with the barely clad woman sitting on the next barstool. When she
gave him the cold shoulder and walked away, the man just shrugged and downed
another shot.
Dylan felt his hands clench into fists at his sides, eager to grab the man and pummel
him, make him hurt until he cried out for his mommy. Instead he took a deep breath
and stepped farther into the dark and pungent tavern, side-stepping drunkards and
wobbly tables until he was right beside his target.  Hell of a place, isn t it? he said in a
clear voice.
The man turned to him and took him in. Dylan had dressed the part in ripped jeans
and a black T-shirt. He knew the scruff on his jaw made him look disreputable.
Combined with the anger burning through him, he probably looked lethal. He smirked
at the thought and watched the man back away from him.
 Isn t it? he repeated, nodding to the bartender. A shot of something dark was slid
in front of him. He grabbed the glass with his right hand and looked down at the
homemade alcohol he had no intention of trying. He needed his wits with him, and the
town s famous liquor would be fatal to all his carefully laid plans.
 Huh, yeah, the man muttered, his face suddenly a lot paler.  Nice to, huh, have
met you. I need to 
 You re not going anywhere, Tim. His left hand clamped like a vise on Maxine s
ex-husband s shoulder.  You re going to sit here like a good dog and listen to what I
have to say.
 Is this about the money? I swear, my stupid wife can help. I thought you d
Ahh!
 Do not talk about her. You are not allowed to say her name ever again.
Understood?
 Ye-yes. Owlish eyes looked back at him. The guy reeked.
Dylan applied more pressure on his shoulder, feeling bones crunch underneath his
palm. Tim emitted another yelp, but he didn t relent. Not until he was sure the other
man got the message.
 If I hear you ve gotten in touch with her, be it tomorrow or in ten years time, I will
find you again and kill you. She s mine now and I don t share. Ever. He dug his
fingers deeper, crushing tendons and muscles. He could hurt him right now, he could
even kill him and be done with it, but he didn t want this on his conscience. Not yet, at
least.  Say yes, Master.
The man sputtered.
 I don t think you understand, Tim. This is non-negotiable. I don t care about the
money you lost at poker or how much you owe Johns. The man winced at the name of
the Cincinnati underground boss.  If they kill you before me, maybe I ll be mad, but I
won t care much either way. Now are we clear? Say yes, Sir.
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A Question of Trust
He forced Tim to stare into his eyes and waited, his other hand sliding from his
glass and finding that spot on a person s neck that makes one lose consciousness in a
matter of seconds. He started applying pressure there.
 Ye-yes. A pause, then,  Sir! came out in a rush.
 Remember my face, Dylan advised seconds before the other man slumped in a
heap against the bar. He watched him slide to the disgusting floor and didn t make a
move. Catching the bartender s gaze, he said,  Drunk. Let him sleep it off. He slid a
couple hundreds over the bar and whirled around. His mission here was done.
One more thing to do and he could go home.
* * * * *
Max stepped onto her front porch, feeling utterly exhausted. She d spent the past
hour at her bank, trying to make sense of the state of her accounts. She d gone to her
banker when she d realized the utilities hadn t been cut off when she d been gone and
that there had been no urgent letters in her mail.
She d gone grocery shopping too and her credit card hadn t been refused.
Something was going on and it hadn t taken her long to realize Dylan had given her
money.
No. She shook her head as she grabbed her house keys from her pants pocket. It
wasn t just money meant to tide her over, to help her start over.
The amount that was now sitting in her accounts meant she wouldn t need to find a
new job for, well, years. Why had he done that when he hadn t even had the courage to
go after her?
The question kept circling in her head and she knew she d have to call him and ask.
She would need to explain to him why she couldn t accept his cash, why it d made her
feel like a slut.
It was only when she reached for the handle that she noticed something hanging [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]