Sunday, March 18, 2018
Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Beyond the Footlights by Jaime Samms Off Stage Part 2
Kilmer and Jacko’s relationship has been foundering for a long time. With the end in sight and despairing that he might never find a Dom who suits him, Kilmer heads to a local bar to drown his sorrows—and meets country singer Tanner.
Tanner feels oddly protective of the broken man and eventually convinces Kilmer to hire him to help remodel the small, sad house Kilmer once shared with Jacko. As Tanner and Kilmer get to know each other, Kilmer regains his lost independence and Tanner’s dominant streak rises to the surface. But will it be a help or a hindrance to the trust they’re trying to build?
The answer might lie in the music Kilmer gave up not long after he met Jacko. Music always granted him solace, clarity, and an outlet for his emotions, and with Tanner’s encouragement, he picks up where he left off. Playing together eases them into honest communication, and though a happily ever after will still take patience and work, taking a chance on each other sounds sweeter with every note.
Chapter One
KILMER CAME back to “present and accounted for” as the front door of Vance’s spacious farmhouse flew open. Kilmer was standing on the porch with little idea how he’d gotten there. Light bright enough to make him wince flared into his face. He lifted a hand to cover his eyes, and grimaced.
“Kil?” Vance’s deep voice rumbled through his gut. So familiar because it had once been his touchstone. But Vance sounded so different from Jacko. Had he really not noticed the cool tones in Jacko’s commands that he had learned to heed over the past four years? How had he never noticed the difference? Vance was so… so—not his anymore.
“What are you doin’ here?” Vance grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. “Where are your shoes?”
“I—” Kilmer glanced down at his bare feet. Maybe they were still in the car. He couldn’t remember.
“Jacko’s been callin’ every five minutes. What happened?”
“Vance?” Len’s voice this time, from where he stood on the stairs. “He’s on the phone again. What do I tell him?”
“He’s here. He’s safe. Tell him to fuck the hell off.”
“Um.” Len’s light steps pattered down a few more stairs. He held the phone out to Kilmer. “You want to talk to him?”
Kilmer took the phone and hit the End button. He handed the receiver to Vance.
“Okay, then,” Len said, voice small but comforting. “Come upstairs.”
They led him, Len in front, and Vance behind like he was afraid Kilmer would fall back down the stairs if he wasn’t there to catch him.
Kilmer felt unsteady and vacant. He wasn’t so sure Vance was wrong to stay where he could catch Kilmer if he stumbled. They made it all the way up, though, and Kilmer continued to follow Len as he led him into their bedroom.
Another bedroom? Now?
Kilmer faltered just inside the doorway.
“Okay.” Vance laid a hand at the small of his back and Kilmer flinched away, because he was covered in a stranger’s mess and even through the cotton shirt, Vance shouldn’t touch that. “Come on.” Vance powered him forward with that touch anyway, either not noticing or ignoring it all. “Sit.”
Kilmer was guided to the bed and he collapsed onto the edge of the mattress.
“Spill,” Vance demanded.
Kilmer shook his head. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t…. He looked up into Vance’s face and saw concern. Worry. No little amount of anger. He turned away from the storm of emotion.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Kilmer said dully. “I knew what I was doin’. I just….”
“What were you doin’?” Vance asked.
Kilmer hefted his gaze up to meet Vance’s. “Endin’ it. In the worst way possible. I—” He’d taken Jacko’s trust and twisted it into barbed wire and insult. He’d hammered the last nail into the coffin of their relationship and let the tiny little bell toll the last gasp of it at Jacko’s feet.
“From the beginnin’,” Vance said, a hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. “Take your time, but tell me everythin’.”
And because in that moment he needed so very badly to have a rule, a lead, one small thing to believe could be real, he took it for a command and he told.
By the end he was sandwiched between them, Len on one side, arm wrapped snuggly around his waist, Vance on the other, hand still at the back of his neck, kneading gently. Both of them had their other hands on him, one on each of his forearms.
“So I left.” Kilmer looked at Vance. “I… don’t actually remember that part. Gettin’ in the car and leavin’.” Though he did have that vision of Jacko on the lawn, barefoot, bare-chested, the looming image of Rocky, broad and strong and waiting in the light of the front door.
“And drivin’?” Vance asked.
Kilmer shook his head. He’d driven the path between his bungalow and the Texas Ex ranch so many times he could do it in his sleep. This time, apparently, he had. It chilled him to realize he had no memory of the drive. Had he turned his headlights on? Had he taken that last turn, the hairpin around the foot of the moraine, wide? How close had he come to the guardrails along the ravine and up over the steep rise? He shuddered. So many ways to die on that stretch of country road.
“Okay,” Vance said, like he had a million times over the past hour as Kilmer haltingly told his story. “You need to shower. You want help?”
Help? Who was going to help him? He shook his head. “I can manage.” He met Vance’s eyes. “I’m okay. I know where everythin’ is. I’ll take the room up here, though. That okay?” Because he didn’t want to sleep in his usual accommodations in the room off the kitchen. It was plain and decent, but it was the help’s space. Barren, just like the spare room at… home.
“You’ll shower here,” Vance decided, pointing to the en suite. “Len, can you find him somethin’ to put on?”
“Sure.” Len jumped up and hurried to the dresser. He found a T-shirt and sweats that had to be Vance’s because there was no way Len’s tiny frame would hold on to the clothes.
The phone rang and Vance picked up. He didn’t even say hello. “He made it here alive. Don’t call again.” He hung up.
Kilmer could have kissed him for that. And he could have crumpled to the floor to cry. He stood very still so he didn’t actually do either.
Len stepped forward and offered the clothing.
Kilmer accepted them and meekly headed into the bathroom. He really should just go across the hall. But both his friends seemed willing to keep him close, and maybe, for just tonight, that was okay. It was what he wanted.
To be okay.
He shucked his jeans, showered, and dried off. His own clothes had been magicked away, so he donned the clean clothes, then peered back out to the bedroom. Vance was sitting up in bed. Len was curled on his side, back to the bathroom, knees up tight, possibly asleep.
“I appreciate this,” Kilmer said, keeping his vice low. “Still want to sleep up here, though.” To Vance he could admit the weakness. Tonight he could be weak. Just this once because Vance knew him.
“Come here.” Vance peeled back the covers and patted the mattress between him and Len.
“No, Van—”
“Lie down,” Len said sleepily. “Get some rest.”
Kilmer’s throat closed, tight and aching. He nodded and climbed up from the foot of the bed, to lie on his back between them. Almost immediately Len rolled over and slung an arm across his chest.
“Night,” Len whispered.
Kilmer glanced at Vance, who shrugged, clicked out the bedside lamp, and shimmied down on Kilmer’s other side.
“You need care,” Vance said matter-of-factly. “Go to sleep.” He planted a kiss on Kilmer’s hair and laced his fingers with Len’s.
They weren’t touching, but Kilmer could feel Vance’s weight and presence, even his heat. Despite the sting behind his eyes, he managed to settle. It wasn’t a solution, but it was a hell of a lot closer to okay here, in the oddness of his friends’ bed, than it had been in the familiarity of his own Dom’s hands.
He didn’t think he would ever sleep, and then he was waking up to sunshine and the smell of coffee.
Chapter Two
KILMER ROLLED onto his back and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was the only one still in bed. The sun was high enough to stream through the window, telling him it was well past his usual wake-up time. The door to the suite’s bathroom was closed, but he heard the shower running. Good. That gave him space to sneak out of the room and hopefully out the back door and into the barn, where he could find some work clothes, get a shovel, and pretend last night had not happened.
Except for the chasm of empty in his gut where all his trust in Jacko had been. Or… had Kilmer been the one to destroy that? He poked about in the shards of his broken relationship but found no real clues as to who had landed the final shattering hammerblow.
Quietly he got up, gathered up T-shirt and jeans from a pile of clean clothes tossed on the foot of the bed. No sign of his boots. He must have left those in the car. He pulled on the jeans, still warm from the dryer, and headed for the stairs, shirt in hand.
The jeans, he realized, weren’t his. They were too long and slipped down his hips, so they had to be Vance’s, but it didn’t matter. They’d cover his ass for the short jog from house to barn, where likely a pair of his own hung in the tack room. He’d return these later.
Halfway to the landing, he heard the clattering of dishes in the kitchen and Len’s sweet tenor humming away.
Shit. No escape through the back, then. Len would see him and Kilmer would have to talk. He scrambled down the last few steps and tried a dash for the front door instead. He could hightail it around the house to freedom.
A heavy thudding sounded just as he touched the handle, shaking the door with the weight of it. He knew—he just knew it was Jacko. Thankfully the curtain hid him from view.
Spinning, he dodged into the office and closed the door most of the way behind him. Footsteps from the kitchen heralded Len’s approach. The front door opened, and he faintly heard a greeting in a low rumbling voice that shook his already unsteady guts into gelatinous goo.
He rested his head on the office doorframe and tried to breathe through the sticky mess.
“What are you doing here?” Len asked coldly.
“Where is he?” Jacko’s bass voice filled the entire front room.
“Sleeping.”
“I need to see him.”
“You fucked up.” Len’s voice was flat, dead of emotion, like a concrete barrier between Jacko and anything the fiery little redhead cared about.
“Not your business, boy,” Jacko rumbled.
Len made a furious noise. The sound of footsteps hurrying down the stairs followed. Kilmer peered out the crack between the office door and its frame as Vance passed, headed for the front door. His friend was dressed in a pair of faded jeans too tight for the button to fasten. His chest still glistened with water.
“Watch how you address my partner,” Vance growled. He placed a hand on Len’s shoulder and stood at his back, a head and more taller than his lover but not towering over him. Just there.
“Always been your problem, Vance,” Jacko said. “You give them too much leeway. You ruined Kilmer. Look at him now. Can’t get the boy to behave no matter what I do.”
“Jacko,” Vance said in warning.
There was a long silence. Feet shuffled, and finally Jacko spoke. “I handled him badly.”
“You think?” Len responded with venom and Vance’s fingers on his shoulder tightened. “I mean,” Len said, subduing his tone though the anger in his expression remained, “maybe instead of handling him, you should have listened to him.”
Kilmer sighed. Maybe Len was right, but that was not Jacko’s way. He dictated. Jacko needed a boy who liked that about him, not one who wanted to second-guess him, who wanted to speak his mind—to defy the very thing Jacko based his dominance on every chance he got. There was a line between intelligently thinking through your Master’s decisions and flagrantly defying the ones you didn’t like. Kilmer had crossed that line some time ago and hadn’t really noticed until it was too late. Perhaps he had defied the spirit of their initial contract, but Jacko had steadfastly refused to renegotiate. Kilmer had an obligation to them both to be true to himself and keep trying.
“Len,” Vance said softly. “Jacko and Kilmer have a different kind of dynamic than we do.”
“Jacko does, maybe,” Len said. “Kil doesn’t, and you”—Len pointed a finger at Jacko—“need to get that before you lose him.”
To Kilmer’s surprise, Jacko nodded. “I do get it.”
“I’m not sure you do.” Vance sounded skeptical.
“He’s special,” Jacko said. “I know that. And I’ve not allowed him to express it.”
Fuck. He couldn’t hide here and listen to them discussing him like he was an interesting problem to solve. He was a human being and Jacko had fucked up. Kilmer had fucked up. The whole fucking thing was fucked the hell up.
“It’s all right,” he said, emerging from hiding.
“You sure?” Vance asked.
Kilmer nodded. “You mind?” He pointed back to the office and Vance dipped his chin in assent.
“You need anything, just call. We’ll be in the kitchen.”
Kilmer gave him the best big-boy smile he could muster and motioned Jacko past him into the room. “Thanks. I’ll be fine.”
How many times had he told Vance that? Every night for how long now, as he climbed into his car and headed for home, he’d said some version of it. How often had he lied to his best friend? He offered an apologetic shrug as Vance turned to give him one last out.
“I gotta do this.” That at least was true.
Inside the room, with the door closed, he turned to face Jacko, braced for his Dom’s disapproval.
“You scared the ever-loving crap out of me last night, boy,” Jacko rumbled. And that had to be true because it was the closest Kilmer had ever heard Jacko come to swearing.
“I’m sorry.”
“What happened? Everything was fine, and then you were losing it—”
“You really think everythin’ is fine?” Kilmer asked.
“It was when you were on your knees. You live for that—”
“For you, Si—Jacko.” He pulled in a deep breath at the stiffening of Jacko’s posture. He didn’t like when Kilmer used his name. It wasn’t supposed to be how they worked. But they were broken, and if Jacko didn’t realize how badly, this might be the only way to show him. As much as it killed to call him anything other than “Sir,” Kilmer could no longer give him that much.
“What?” Jacko stared at him, more intent than angry, and that was actually more unsettling than if he’d lost his temper.
“I lived for you to be that guy,” Kilmer said. “My… touchstone. My rock. Whatever. I did everything you asked when it was you and me. I let you do things no one else has ever been allowed to do because I trusted you to take care of me.”
“And I do.”
“No.” Kilmer’s voice shook. “Not lately. Lately you’ve taken care of your own hurt feelings or embarrassment or whatever the hell you want to call it when I do things like stand up for a friend, instead of fawning at your feet and agreeing with you when you’re wrong.”
“You know your place, boy,” Jacko said, taking a step toward him.
“I thought I did, yes.” Kilmer ached to move closer, to agree with Jacko, to give the older man what he wanted. Give in and have the comfort of his man in his bed again, strong hands to hold him down and give him a place when he was so far from the home he’d grown up in.
But he couldn’t. He could never give in to that temptation again, because Jacko had shown him last night something he’d tried hard for a very long time to ignore. Jacko was Kilmer’s Dom. Not his lover. Not his partner. Barely even his friend. And Kilmer couldn’t live with that kind of relationship any more than he could have lived with Vance’s version of dominance.
“I guess that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Jacko asked. “You always need to think these days. Analyze what we’re doing, instead of just doing it.”
Kilmer stared at him. “Yes.” It was a pretty simple statement in the end. Kilmer had a brain and he used it. Jacko wanted blind obedience.
“Why?” The plea in Jacko’s voice caught Kilmer off guard. “Why now? You never did before. You followed my lead. You let me make the decisions. You did as you were told.”
“Because….” Kilmer faltered. Had he been that pliable? He’d never been so with Vance. Well. Maybe that wasn’t true either.
When he’d been a young man living in Texas, being gay was a trial. He and Vance had bonded over it, and when Vance fled the state and eventually the country to follow his rising musical star, Kilmer followed.
Vance had used the copious amounts of money he made as a country singer to buy this spread in rural Ontario. He’d asked Kilmer to come run it for him when he was on the road, and Kilmer jumped at the chance.
He loved his tight-knit family back in Texas. He did not love how he had to hide so much of himself for them to love him back.
Besides, he and Vance had made a good team. Back home they had been compatible friends and lovers, off and on, for a long time. Then Vance left on his quest for fame. Kilmer saw the tabloid gossip as Vance tumbled downhill fast, drinking too much and screwing indiscriminately. He needed a home and someone to keep it for him. He needed stability. Kilmer could save the domineering singer from himself and make that home. So he packed up and moved to Ontario and into Vance’s life. They picked up their affair where it had dropped off, and Kilmer loved that somewhere along the way, Vance had learned to control his dominance. Kilmer was happy to let the control seep over into their sex life.
Vance wanted a partner in the business and a submissive lover in bed. He wanted a thinking, rational, capable man to run his land and his life when he was busy touring with his music. As long as Vance wasn’t on the scene, Kilmer had delivered, but he’d been unable to subordinate himself to Vance in bed and still maintain his autonomy out of it when Vance came home. It was his own weakness, and he knew it.
The moment Vance came home, Kilmer fell into a pattern of needy uselessness neither of them liked. Their friendship thankfully turned out to be stronger than their love affair, and they let the latter go to preserve the former. They were good friends now, and made a strong, successful business team.
Len and Vance worked because Len wasn’t running the ranch or any other part of Vance’s life. He was his submissive, his lover, and his friend, and he had a life of his own in the music world, was a rock star in his own right. They worked because the personal power dynamic didn’t touch their professional lives.
With his success running the ranch, Kilmer had been so sure he was strong enough to take another Dom and not fall into the same trap. He met Jacko at the bar in town when he’d been playing bass for a house band. They clicked. Kilmer felt sure here was a man strong enough to understand the side of Kilmer that could run a ranch. They had music in common, and Jacko could put Kilmer on his knees with a word and a hand placed just right. That didn’t mean Kilmer would fall under the spell like he had last time. He was still his own man. Jacko would not run his life. He’d been so confident.
Had he failed so utterly?
“Boy.”
Jacko’s stern voice shook him, and he shrugged both shoulders to throw off the yoke before it could settle.
“Not anymore.”
KILMER CAME back to “present and accounted for” as the front door of Vance’s spacious farmhouse flew open. Kilmer was standing on the porch with little idea how he’d gotten there. Light bright enough to make him wince flared into his face. He lifted a hand to cover his eyes, and grimaced.
“Kil?” Vance’s deep voice rumbled through his gut. So familiar because it had once been his touchstone. But Vance sounded so different from Jacko. Had he really not noticed the cool tones in Jacko’s commands that he had learned to heed over the past four years? How had he never noticed the difference? Vance was so… so—not his anymore.
“What are you doin’ here?” Vance grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. “Where are your shoes?”
“I—” Kilmer glanced down at his bare feet. Maybe they were still in the car. He couldn’t remember.
“Jacko’s been callin’ every five minutes. What happened?”
“Vance?” Len’s voice this time, from where he stood on the stairs. “He’s on the phone again. What do I tell him?”
“He’s here. He’s safe. Tell him to fuck the hell off.”
“Um.” Len’s light steps pattered down a few more stairs. He held the phone out to Kilmer. “You want to talk to him?”
Kilmer took the phone and hit the End button. He handed the receiver to Vance.
“Okay, then,” Len said, voice small but comforting. “Come upstairs.”
They led him, Len in front, and Vance behind like he was afraid Kilmer would fall back down the stairs if he wasn’t there to catch him.
Kilmer felt unsteady and vacant. He wasn’t so sure Vance was wrong to stay where he could catch Kilmer if he stumbled. They made it all the way up, though, and Kilmer continued to follow Len as he led him into their bedroom.
Another bedroom? Now?
Kilmer faltered just inside the doorway.
“Okay.” Vance laid a hand at the small of his back and Kilmer flinched away, because he was covered in a stranger’s mess and even through the cotton shirt, Vance shouldn’t touch that. “Come on.” Vance powered him forward with that touch anyway, either not noticing or ignoring it all. “Sit.”
Kilmer was guided to the bed and he collapsed onto the edge of the mattress.
“Spill,” Vance demanded.
Kilmer shook his head. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t…. He looked up into Vance’s face and saw concern. Worry. No little amount of anger. He turned away from the storm of emotion.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Kilmer said dully. “I knew what I was doin’. I just….”
“What were you doin’?” Vance asked.
Kilmer hefted his gaze up to meet Vance’s. “Endin’ it. In the worst way possible. I—” He’d taken Jacko’s trust and twisted it into barbed wire and insult. He’d hammered the last nail into the coffin of their relationship and let the tiny little bell toll the last gasp of it at Jacko’s feet.
“From the beginnin’,” Vance said, a hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. “Take your time, but tell me everythin’.”
And because in that moment he needed so very badly to have a rule, a lead, one small thing to believe could be real, he took it for a command and he told.
By the end he was sandwiched between them, Len on one side, arm wrapped snuggly around his waist, Vance on the other, hand still at the back of his neck, kneading gently. Both of them had their other hands on him, one on each of his forearms.
“So I left.” Kilmer looked at Vance. “I… don’t actually remember that part. Gettin’ in the car and leavin’.” Though he did have that vision of Jacko on the lawn, barefoot, bare-chested, the looming image of Rocky, broad and strong and waiting in the light of the front door.
“And drivin’?” Vance asked.
Kilmer shook his head. He’d driven the path between his bungalow and the Texas Ex ranch so many times he could do it in his sleep. This time, apparently, he had. It chilled him to realize he had no memory of the drive. Had he turned his headlights on? Had he taken that last turn, the hairpin around the foot of the moraine, wide? How close had he come to the guardrails along the ravine and up over the steep rise? He shuddered. So many ways to die on that stretch of country road.
“Okay,” Vance said, like he had a million times over the past hour as Kilmer haltingly told his story. “You need to shower. You want help?”
Help? Who was going to help him? He shook his head. “I can manage.” He met Vance’s eyes. “I’m okay. I know where everythin’ is. I’ll take the room up here, though. That okay?” Because he didn’t want to sleep in his usual accommodations in the room off the kitchen. It was plain and decent, but it was the help’s space. Barren, just like the spare room at… home.
“You’ll shower here,” Vance decided, pointing to the en suite. “Len, can you find him somethin’ to put on?”
“Sure.” Len jumped up and hurried to the dresser. He found a T-shirt and sweats that had to be Vance’s because there was no way Len’s tiny frame would hold on to the clothes.
The phone rang and Vance picked up. He didn’t even say hello. “He made it here alive. Don’t call again.” He hung up.
Kilmer could have kissed him for that. And he could have crumpled to the floor to cry. He stood very still so he didn’t actually do either.
Len stepped forward and offered the clothing.
Kilmer accepted them and meekly headed into the bathroom. He really should just go across the hall. But both his friends seemed willing to keep him close, and maybe, for just tonight, that was okay. It was what he wanted.
To be okay.
He shucked his jeans, showered, and dried off. His own clothes had been magicked away, so he donned the clean clothes, then peered back out to the bedroom. Vance was sitting up in bed. Len was curled on his side, back to the bathroom, knees up tight, possibly asleep.
“I appreciate this,” Kilmer said, keeping his vice low. “Still want to sleep up here, though.” To Vance he could admit the weakness. Tonight he could be weak. Just this once because Vance knew him.
“Come here.” Vance peeled back the covers and patted the mattress between him and Len.
“No, Van—”
“Lie down,” Len said sleepily. “Get some rest.”
Kilmer’s throat closed, tight and aching. He nodded and climbed up from the foot of the bed, to lie on his back between them. Almost immediately Len rolled over and slung an arm across his chest.
“Night,” Len whispered.
Kilmer glanced at Vance, who shrugged, clicked out the bedside lamp, and shimmied down on Kilmer’s other side.
“You need care,” Vance said matter-of-factly. “Go to sleep.” He planted a kiss on Kilmer’s hair and laced his fingers with Len’s.
They weren’t touching, but Kilmer could feel Vance’s weight and presence, even his heat. Despite the sting behind his eyes, he managed to settle. It wasn’t a solution, but it was a hell of a lot closer to okay here, in the oddness of his friends’ bed, than it had been in the familiarity of his own Dom’s hands.
He didn’t think he would ever sleep, and then he was waking up to sunshine and the smell of coffee.
Chapter Two
KILMER ROLLED onto his back and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was the only one still in bed. The sun was high enough to stream through the window, telling him it was well past his usual wake-up time. The door to the suite’s bathroom was closed, but he heard the shower running. Good. That gave him space to sneak out of the room and hopefully out the back door and into the barn, where he could find some work clothes, get a shovel, and pretend last night had not happened.
Except for the chasm of empty in his gut where all his trust in Jacko had been. Or… had Kilmer been the one to destroy that? He poked about in the shards of his broken relationship but found no real clues as to who had landed the final shattering hammerblow.
Quietly he got up, gathered up T-shirt and jeans from a pile of clean clothes tossed on the foot of the bed. No sign of his boots. He must have left those in the car. He pulled on the jeans, still warm from the dryer, and headed for the stairs, shirt in hand.
The jeans, he realized, weren’t his. They were too long and slipped down his hips, so they had to be Vance’s, but it didn’t matter. They’d cover his ass for the short jog from house to barn, where likely a pair of his own hung in the tack room. He’d return these later.
Halfway to the landing, he heard the clattering of dishes in the kitchen and Len’s sweet tenor humming away.
Shit. No escape through the back, then. Len would see him and Kilmer would have to talk. He scrambled down the last few steps and tried a dash for the front door instead. He could hightail it around the house to freedom.
A heavy thudding sounded just as he touched the handle, shaking the door with the weight of it. He knew—he just knew it was Jacko. Thankfully the curtain hid him from view.
Spinning, he dodged into the office and closed the door most of the way behind him. Footsteps from the kitchen heralded Len’s approach. The front door opened, and he faintly heard a greeting in a low rumbling voice that shook his already unsteady guts into gelatinous goo.
He rested his head on the office doorframe and tried to breathe through the sticky mess.
“What are you doing here?” Len asked coldly.
“Where is he?” Jacko’s bass voice filled the entire front room.
“Sleeping.”
“I need to see him.”
“You fucked up.” Len’s voice was flat, dead of emotion, like a concrete barrier between Jacko and anything the fiery little redhead cared about.
“Not your business, boy,” Jacko rumbled.
Len made a furious noise. The sound of footsteps hurrying down the stairs followed. Kilmer peered out the crack between the office door and its frame as Vance passed, headed for the front door. His friend was dressed in a pair of faded jeans too tight for the button to fasten. His chest still glistened with water.
“Watch how you address my partner,” Vance growled. He placed a hand on Len’s shoulder and stood at his back, a head and more taller than his lover but not towering over him. Just there.
“Always been your problem, Vance,” Jacko said. “You give them too much leeway. You ruined Kilmer. Look at him now. Can’t get the boy to behave no matter what I do.”
“Jacko,” Vance said in warning.
There was a long silence. Feet shuffled, and finally Jacko spoke. “I handled him badly.”
“You think?” Len responded with venom and Vance’s fingers on his shoulder tightened. “I mean,” Len said, subduing his tone though the anger in his expression remained, “maybe instead of handling him, you should have listened to him.”
Kilmer sighed. Maybe Len was right, but that was not Jacko’s way. He dictated. Jacko needed a boy who liked that about him, not one who wanted to second-guess him, who wanted to speak his mind—to defy the very thing Jacko based his dominance on every chance he got. There was a line between intelligently thinking through your Master’s decisions and flagrantly defying the ones you didn’t like. Kilmer had crossed that line some time ago and hadn’t really noticed until it was too late. Perhaps he had defied the spirit of their initial contract, but Jacko had steadfastly refused to renegotiate. Kilmer had an obligation to them both to be true to himself and keep trying.
“Len,” Vance said softly. “Jacko and Kilmer have a different kind of dynamic than we do.”
“Jacko does, maybe,” Len said. “Kil doesn’t, and you”—Len pointed a finger at Jacko—“need to get that before you lose him.”
To Kilmer’s surprise, Jacko nodded. “I do get it.”
“I’m not sure you do.” Vance sounded skeptical.
“He’s special,” Jacko said. “I know that. And I’ve not allowed him to express it.”
Fuck. He couldn’t hide here and listen to them discussing him like he was an interesting problem to solve. He was a human being and Jacko had fucked up. Kilmer had fucked up. The whole fucking thing was fucked the hell up.
“It’s all right,” he said, emerging from hiding.
“You sure?” Vance asked.
Kilmer nodded. “You mind?” He pointed back to the office and Vance dipped his chin in assent.
“You need anything, just call. We’ll be in the kitchen.”
Kilmer gave him the best big-boy smile he could muster and motioned Jacko past him into the room. “Thanks. I’ll be fine.”
How many times had he told Vance that? Every night for how long now, as he climbed into his car and headed for home, he’d said some version of it. How often had he lied to his best friend? He offered an apologetic shrug as Vance turned to give him one last out.
“I gotta do this.” That at least was true.
Inside the room, with the door closed, he turned to face Jacko, braced for his Dom’s disapproval.
“You scared the ever-loving crap out of me last night, boy,” Jacko rumbled. And that had to be true because it was the closest Kilmer had ever heard Jacko come to swearing.
“I’m sorry.”
“What happened? Everything was fine, and then you were losing it—”
“You really think everythin’ is fine?” Kilmer asked.
“It was when you were on your knees. You live for that—”
“For you, Si—Jacko.” He pulled in a deep breath at the stiffening of Jacko’s posture. He didn’t like when Kilmer used his name. It wasn’t supposed to be how they worked. But they were broken, and if Jacko didn’t realize how badly, this might be the only way to show him. As much as it killed to call him anything other than “Sir,” Kilmer could no longer give him that much.
“What?” Jacko stared at him, more intent than angry, and that was actually more unsettling than if he’d lost his temper.
“I lived for you to be that guy,” Kilmer said. “My… touchstone. My rock. Whatever. I did everything you asked when it was you and me. I let you do things no one else has ever been allowed to do because I trusted you to take care of me.”
“And I do.”
“No.” Kilmer’s voice shook. “Not lately. Lately you’ve taken care of your own hurt feelings or embarrassment or whatever the hell you want to call it when I do things like stand up for a friend, instead of fawning at your feet and agreeing with you when you’re wrong.”
“You know your place, boy,” Jacko said, taking a step toward him.
“I thought I did, yes.” Kilmer ached to move closer, to agree with Jacko, to give the older man what he wanted. Give in and have the comfort of his man in his bed again, strong hands to hold him down and give him a place when he was so far from the home he’d grown up in.
But he couldn’t. He could never give in to that temptation again, because Jacko had shown him last night something he’d tried hard for a very long time to ignore. Jacko was Kilmer’s Dom. Not his lover. Not his partner. Barely even his friend. And Kilmer couldn’t live with that kind of relationship any more than he could have lived with Vance’s version of dominance.
“I guess that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Jacko asked. “You always need to think these days. Analyze what we’re doing, instead of just doing it.”
Kilmer stared at him. “Yes.” It was a pretty simple statement in the end. Kilmer had a brain and he used it. Jacko wanted blind obedience.
“Why?” The plea in Jacko’s voice caught Kilmer off guard. “Why now? You never did before. You followed my lead. You let me make the decisions. You did as you were told.”
“Because….” Kilmer faltered. Had he been that pliable? He’d never been so with Vance. Well. Maybe that wasn’t true either.
When he’d been a young man living in Texas, being gay was a trial. He and Vance had bonded over it, and when Vance fled the state and eventually the country to follow his rising musical star, Kilmer followed.
Vance had used the copious amounts of money he made as a country singer to buy this spread in rural Ontario. He’d asked Kilmer to come run it for him when he was on the road, and Kilmer jumped at the chance.
He loved his tight-knit family back in Texas. He did not love how he had to hide so much of himself for them to love him back.
Besides, he and Vance had made a good team. Back home they had been compatible friends and lovers, off and on, for a long time. Then Vance left on his quest for fame. Kilmer saw the tabloid gossip as Vance tumbled downhill fast, drinking too much and screwing indiscriminately. He needed a home and someone to keep it for him. He needed stability. Kilmer could save the domineering singer from himself and make that home. So he packed up and moved to Ontario and into Vance’s life. They picked up their affair where it had dropped off, and Kilmer loved that somewhere along the way, Vance had learned to control his dominance. Kilmer was happy to let the control seep over into their sex life.
Vance wanted a partner in the business and a submissive lover in bed. He wanted a thinking, rational, capable man to run his land and his life when he was busy touring with his music. As long as Vance wasn’t on the scene, Kilmer had delivered, but he’d been unable to subordinate himself to Vance in bed and still maintain his autonomy out of it when Vance came home. It was his own weakness, and he knew it.
The moment Vance came home, Kilmer fell into a pattern of needy uselessness neither of them liked. Their friendship thankfully turned out to be stronger than their love affair, and they let the latter go to preserve the former. They were good friends now, and made a strong, successful business team.
Len and Vance worked because Len wasn’t running the ranch or any other part of Vance’s life. He was his submissive, his lover, and his friend, and he had a life of his own in the music world, was a rock star in his own right. They worked because the personal power dynamic didn’t touch their professional lives.
With his success running the ranch, Kilmer had been so sure he was strong enough to take another Dom and not fall into the same trap. He met Jacko at the bar in town when he’d been playing bass for a house band. They clicked. Kilmer felt sure here was a man strong enough to understand the side of Kilmer that could run a ranch. They had music in common, and Jacko could put Kilmer on his knees with a word and a hand placed just right. That didn’t mean Kilmer would fall under the spell like he had last time. He was still his own man. Jacko would not run his life. He’d been so confident.
Had he failed so utterly?
“Boy.”
Jacko’s stern voice shook him, and he shrugged both shoulders to throw off the yoke before it could settle.
“Not anymore.”
Author Bio:
With most of the hours in the day taken up by a part time job and the full time occupation of raising and schooling two kids, writing is somewhat of an indulgence, but it's the indulgences that keep us sane, right? When not otherwise occupied, like most writers, reading is my relaxation method of choice, and you can find my reviews at Kuriousity and Dark Diva Reviews to let you know what I liked (and occasionally, what I didn't). And just in case there are an extra few minutes in the day, I also help out the admin team abelong to a writer's critique group: Dreaming in Ink. After all, idle hands and all that.
KOBO / SMASHWORDS / PINTEREST
EMAIL: jaime.samms@gmail.com
KOBO / iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY
Release Blitz: Dusk by TA Creech
Title: Dusk
Author: TA Creech
Series: Expedition 63 #1
Genre: M/M Romance, Science Fiction, Erotic
Release Date: March 17, 2018
Publisher: JMS Books
Summary:When contact is lost with Mission Control, Commander John Dennington isn’t overly concerned. Such hiccups in communication are common. The first inkling of the larger problem occurs when he sees the very shape of the world change before his eyes.
John must ease his crew into a new mission and keep the Station together by any means necessary. The crew jeopardizes their chances by fighting his orders, but Jason Weiss, his mission specialist and the light of his life, makes John’s situation more bearable.
The smallest malfunction to Station or crew would spell the end for six astronauts trapped high above a ruined Earth. It’s their mission to carry on. Random chance of the universe hasn’t operated in their favor so far, but John is determined to see them all safely home.
"Nobody's going to be angry if you literally can't get a hold of them," John tried to placate him. The wrinkled nose on his cool bronze face didn't reassure him that Yakecen would let it go, but he had to try. His prickly friend was going to blow a gasket one day and John hated the thought.
Yakecen confirmed his fear with a shake of his head, simple crow black braid swishing against the interior panels like an agitated cat's tail. "I don't want to get dressed down again. The last time, the asshole on the other end of the line said she'd put a reprimand in my file if I couldn't stay on schedule."
That was news to him. "Who told you this?"
"Some drone in Control. I don't remember," he told John, the discomfort in his whole body clear as day. Yakecen wasn't a people person on his good days and when someone had a problem with his work, it just made him dig his heels in.
John sighed and ran his index finger down the bridge of his nose. It didn't help the headache that brewed right behind his eyes. "I'll get it straightened out. People can't expect everything to go perfectly all the time and they shouldn't take it out on you."
"Thanks, John." Yakecen meant it, John saw it in the earnest way he thanked him. John was happy to be the buffer for his crew, especially for Yakecen, but fuck, he hoped someone would take up the duty once they back on the ground. John had plans and he couldn't do that job full time.
John nodded and started to back out of the capsule. "So, yeah, comms are down. Just sit tight, okay?"
"Sure thing." Yakecen ducked out of sight between the seats. "And tell whoever has the camera to knock off with the flash. It's so bright, going off in here, that it almost gave me a headache."
John paused. A camera flash wasn't anywhere near that strong and the interior wasn't that dark. And someone would've made a lot of racket getting past the garbage container over his head. "You see who it was?"
"No," was the muffled answer, but his crewmember popped up again and gave John a strange look. "I didn't see anyone when I checked. Although, how any of our guys avoided me seeing them, I'll never know. Saito even has a problem getting in here."
Saito was the smallest of them all, barely five feet in his socks.
"Huh." That was peculiar. "You know, Turlach was saying the same thing. Maybe Saito knows something about it. He's been in Destiny for a few hours now."
"It was annoying as fuck." Yakecen popped back out of his spot and pointed a finger at John. He hated that finger, because Yakecen always managed to have a disapproving look that matched John's mother's so perfectly, he thought they were clones for a second. "I don't have a problem with the candid shots, but not while I'm working in here. It's too dark for it."
"Understood," John promised.
Yakecen confirmed his fear with a shake of his head, simple crow black braid swishing against the interior panels like an agitated cat's tail. "I don't want to get dressed down again. The last time, the asshole on the other end of the line said she'd put a reprimand in my file if I couldn't stay on schedule."
That was news to him. "Who told you this?"
"Some drone in Control. I don't remember," he told John, the discomfort in his whole body clear as day. Yakecen wasn't a people person on his good days and when someone had a problem with his work, it just made him dig his heels in.
John sighed and ran his index finger down the bridge of his nose. It didn't help the headache that brewed right behind his eyes. "I'll get it straightened out. People can't expect everything to go perfectly all the time and they shouldn't take it out on you."
John nodded and started to back out of the capsule. "So, yeah, comms are down. Just sit tight, okay?"
"Sure thing." Yakecen ducked out of sight between the seats. "And tell whoever has the camera to knock off with the flash. It's so bright, going off in here, that it almost gave me a headache."
John paused. A camera flash wasn't anywhere near that strong and the interior wasn't that dark. And someone would've made a lot of racket getting past the garbage container over his head. "You see who it was?"
"No," was the muffled answer, but his crewmember popped up again and gave John a strange look. "I didn't see anyone when I checked. Although, how any of our guys avoided me seeing them, I'll never know. Saito even has a problem getting in here."
Saito was the smallest of them all, barely five feet in his socks.
"Huh." That was peculiar. "You know, Turlach was saying the same thing. Maybe Saito knows something about it. He's been in Destiny for a few hours now."
"It was annoying as fuck." Yakecen popped back out of his spot and pointed a finger at John. He hated that finger, because Yakecen always managed to have a disapproving look that matched John's mother's so perfectly, he thought they were clones for a second. "I don't have a problem with the candid shots, but not while I'm working in here. It's too dark for it."
"Understood," John promised.
I am a house-parent to a rambunctious small child and happily mated to an equally rambunctious military spouse. My adventures in writing began with fanfiction, and once I was hooked I never looked back.
While I've always tried to make my fanfiction unique, what I enjoy most about creating original work is the ability to delve into my stranger ideas without worrying about how I might apply them to someone else's world and characters. With my own creations, I take pride in twisting familiar tropes into something new and unexpected.
When I write, it is with the intention that my stories will leave a lasting impression. I hope you enjoy the characters and the worlds I create, and that they help you to find a place to exist, for a while, outside of your own.
GOOGLE PLAY / SMASHWORDS / B&N
Saturday, March 17, 2018
Saturday's Series Spotlight: McAllister Justice by Reily Garrett featuring Inconclusive Evidence #3
Title: Inconclusive Evidence
Author: Reily Garrett
Series: McAllister Justice #3
Genre: Romantic Suspense, Thriller
Expected Release Date: March 26, 2018
Summary:
Braiding nanotechnology and medicine equals magic to the psychopathic mind.
Megan Chauner has achieved her dream of opening a veterinary practice when she receives a mysterious package with a dire warning from a college roommate turned investigative reporter. Entering a world of advanced surgical techniques, polymer microchips, and nanotechnology, she discovers twisted minds merging the latest science with progressive surgical procedures in a bid for power and wealth.
Lucas McAllister faces the biggest upheaval of his life. From chick magnet to wounded cop wasn’t a fall he’d foreseen. Now facing a forced retirement, he returns home to find a gun-toting enigma with multiple IDs deciphering reams of technical, medical jargon and embroiled in a plot destined to alter mankind’s path.
Stalkers and assassins draft reality checks that test Luc’s skill and endurance in keeping Megan and her furball alive while the McAllister brothers unite to thwart a bi-coastal conspiracy.
Content Warning: 18+ due to explicit sexual content
Content Warning: 18+ due to explicit sexual content
Theft of spirit is no one’s birthright.
A quirk of her X chromosome furnished Alexis with an edge few others enjoyed. After fate plunged her into orphan status and an intolerable foster home forced her to the streets, a group of prostitutes sheltered her from their vicious pimp. Seeing something special within, they nurtured and shielded her from their harsh reality until she could forge her own path in life.
Digital Velocity #1Summary:
The deadliest weapons are the ones we never see.
Keyboard prodigy, Lexi Donovan has risen from teenage orphan of the streets to complete independence with little help along the way. When a pervert threatens her friend, she sends an anonymous message to police, leading to a firefight that leaves a cop wounded.
Detective Ethan McAllister’s well-ordered life turned upside down the day an obscure text message led to a sexual predator’s identity and arrest. Since then, Callouston PD’s finest can’t trace the elusive hacker. The latest tip leads him to a brutal mutilation and a riddle indicating the identity of the next murder victim.
The dark net houses a playground for the morally depleted and criminally insane. When Lexi discovers the killer’s digital betting arena, she finds herself centered in a cyber stalker’s crosshairs, a psychopath bearing equal talent.
Street life strengthened Lexi while toughening her protective shell, but nothing could shield her from the shrewd detective forging a path to her heart.
Bound by Shadows #2
Summary:
Summary:
The architect of fear employs many forms.
Kidnapping and murder never crossed Kaylee’s mind when seeking a fresh start in Portland, a new beginning to shed the remnants of tragedy dogging her steps. After escaping from an underground cage, she fights to stay one step ahead of the killer bent on silencing his only witness. Kaylee.
Two months after dodging a sociopathic murderer’s best efforts, Caden McAllister flounders within a social sink hole, unable to move forward, too stubborn to step back. Guarded and wary, the private investigator’s stagnant lifestyle detonates into chaos when a battered and bloody young waif stumbles into his care.
Framed for a murdering a past lover, Caden must clear his name and overcome his charge’s doubts while keeping her out of the sex-slave trade. When betrayal ends with Kaylee’s re-capture, Caden must conquer his past and risk all or lose the one he has come to love.
Murder, mystery, underground tunnels, and romance are intertwined in this standalone romantic thriller, the second installment of the McAllister Justice Series.
Death in degrees
Jackie Milburn didn’t do fear.
The late-night walk to her car had never provoked an accelerated heart rate. Tonight, however, a bone-deep foreboding arose from vestiges of instinctual awareness, all merging to question her mission’s strategy. If she failed, millions would suffer and life as anyone knew it, would end.
Indistinct shadows granted a cozy ambience where she often lurked, but dingy light filtering through overhead branches mocked her bravado. Shadow limbs shook with laughter as Fate’s sense of humor conspired with nature to saturate creation’s mindset with malice.
Regardless of destiny’s intentions, she squared her shoulders while scanning the deserted parking lot, alert to any threat. A sense of relief had washed through her after depositing the damning evidence in the USPS blue box. The evil shits would never expect an investigative reporter to mail the sophisticated mechanisms across country. Precautions taken with the dispatch ensured no one could trace the recipient. Always have a backup plan.
This was the biggest scoop of her career and would spotlight one of Delaware’s billion-dollar companies as a collection of hi-tech, sociopathic thugs.
It wouldn’t take CSV Pharmaceuticals long to discover crucial evidence missing and ferret out their traitor. As corporations went, they were as paranoid as any. She prayed Dr. Sorenson made it out of the country alive, and not as shark chum. Paranoia had compelled her to refuse him the number to her newest burner phone. Intuition saw the last one tossed in the Willamette River after tapping out a quick message to her old college roommate. Jackie survived by instincts and prayed they would serve her well—one more time.
Making the last stop to pick up her go-bag would supply the necessary items to disappear until her story broke. The finishing touches included copies of lab reports and communication between the Delaware scientists and a company on the West Coast, ClickChip.
Various colored and styled wigs, plain lens glasses, makeup, and diverse fashion ensembles would allow her to blend with any crowd, but wouldn’t prevent CCTVs and facial recognition programs from pinpointing her location. Planning ahead, she had a well-stocked safe house outside city limits.
Trembling fingers failed to punch the unlock button on her key fob. Instead, her headlights cut a swath through the misty ground cover, a beacon to any waiting goon. Shit. The subsequent knocking of heart against ribs rivaled the best hammer drill while sweat coated her palms and face despite her warmed exhalations sending puffed smoke signals in the frosty air.
A slow, deep breath reclaimed her sense of calm and allowed the subtle scent from emerging camellia blossoms drifting on the night’s currents to settle her spirit. There. This is who I am. For visual affirmation of her feelings, she glanced at her reflection in the driver’s side window.
The sudden thrust of a phantom arm emerging from the dark pinned her against a hard chest. The steely limb angled and applied pressure to tilt her head back as if she were a rag doll.
“Oomph.” Collision forced air from her lungs while shock produced a gasp that inhaled a sickly sweet odor from the cloth rammed over her mouth and nose.
“Wanna play?” Malice drew out each syllable in a parody of innocent sport.
Momentary panic barred all reason. Instinctive reaction initiated clawing at the viselike grip. Subsequent kicking and twisting of her body yielded no compromise in her position.
In her periphery, she caught sight of a malevolent smile and glinting dark eyes under a black fedora. The boogeyman does exist.
Lethargy and disorientation. Another breath or pass out from hypoxia. No more pain. All her muscles relaxed against her will. The invading blackness closed in from the margins.
NO! An enraged cry died in her throat.
Tender Echoes #.5
“Jesus, Charlie. Hold on. I’ll get you to a hospital.” Lexi swallowed hard against the rising tide of acid degrading her throat’s lining as the unfolding scene corrupted her sanity. Pressure against the makeshift bandage on Charlie’s belly wound yielded a deeper crimson soaking her jacket, the provisional dressing secured by fingers encased in a thickening, sticky glove. So much blood.
This could’ve been Lexi’s fate—stabbed, slashed, disfigured for all time, blood forming rivulets pooling in the alley’s filth. Maroon puddles mingled with body fluids common to alleys sheltering the homeless as if destined to couple in a macabre, virulent concoction.
“R-run, Lexi. D-don’t let him make you a w-whore. I wasn’t—strong enough. Y-you were never p-part of the street life.” Trash and other filth from the narrow passageway cushioned Charlie’s bruised and battered head. One front tooth was missing, probably swallowed, while blood seeped from jagged slashes on her cheeks and brow, both career enders in the event she survived. “You shouldn’t be here. It was a mistake to text you, but the cops wouldn’t believe us girls.”
“Did your pimp do this, Charlie? What’s his real name?” Tell me so I can help you.
Remnants of a cardboard box, a vagabond’s homemade privy, retained odors of the dispossessed, rivaled only by the excrement saturating every molecule of thickened air drawn into her lungs. This was no place and no way to die.
“Yeah—said I stole from a customer. But I didn’t. The b-bastard just wanted a freebie.” Otherworldly pain glazed eyes forecasting a nonexistent future while icy wind leached color from a once-beautiful face now smeared with crimson streaks and pain. “Won’t tell you his name. I didn’t want to die alone. You’re f-free. You made it.”
“No, Charlie. I’ll get help. Lie still while I secure a pressure dressing.” This late at night, there’d be few cars to flag down and no foot traffic from which to enlist help. She was forced to rely on emergency personnel who’d classify the incident as NHI, no human involved.
Terror-induced flashbacks spewed forth of a stranger offering refuge to a teenager standing on a precipice, a choice. She’d first thought him relatively handsome, not understanding the slimy base of his character. She’d had no experience with pimps. Still, something inside steered her away from his pleasant façade. Perhaps she’d sensed his underlying character. Instinct had directed her to the unknown, where a small group of prostitutes offered shelter and nurtured her mind.
With one hand, Lexi freed her belt and maneuvered it under the fallen girl’s tiny waist amid groans and mewling cries. Youth and a livelihood from flatbacking necessitated a svelte figure, which facilitated her efforts to cinch the leather strap tight. Lexi reached for the cell clutched in Charlie’s hand, knowing the late hour meant a longer wait for help. Her fingers, covered in sticky crimson ropes of blood, tangled briefly with Charlie’s, a squishy squeeze to lend encouragement. Another bolus of acid rose in her throat.
“No.” One word spoken from the disembodied voice behind her could flash freeze Hell and instigate the formation of ice crystals in any world, under any circumstance.
Digital Velocity #1
I move frequently—but gain no distance.
I am warm, moist, and dark but give no comfort.
I can stretch and shrink, giving or taking at will, bringing both pain and pleasure with each.
“If God wanted you to tie the knot, he’d give you a near-death experience to better appreciate life, along with a craving for procreation. Then he’d smother your soul with the essence of venison, squirrel, frog legs, taters, and beer, to attract a likely counterpart from the sticks. No, wait. The latter has already happened, hasn’t it? Sorry.” Ethan narrowly kept his balance on the green-slicked, handmade bricks leading up the two-story, mauve-colored Victorian. If his 210-pound mass ended up sprawled on the steps, no doubt the picture would be splashed all over the precinct by noon with various unsavory captions.
“Maybe you should try it. The stick up your ass has to cause at least minor discomfort.” Larrick’s early-morning snark was a common greeting.
“Hey, I’m a normal guy.” Ethan glared over his shoulder.
Larrick snorted.
“Still wet from our early-morning storm. Watch your step, it’s slippery.” Scanning the myriad amorphous shadows lurking in the wood line, realization struck that he and his partner were sitting ducks if a sniper perched among the loblolly pine and oak trees lining the front and side yards.
Larrick’s reply came in equal measure of soft tones. “Either that or a large flock of birds dropped in recently to help her redecorate. Great detective work.”
“Bird droppings are—”
“Are sought after for facials. Especially the Japanese Nightingale shit.”
“Only you would know that.” Ethan adjusted his tie, an acknowledgment of the apprehension filling his mind.
“Are we whispering because your paranoid gut can’t assimilate food well enough to distinguish indigestion from an outside threat? This woman lives alone, gonna think we’re a couple of perverts and be liable to shoot us.”
“Word has it she’s a pacifist.”
“Fine. You’re one to talk about signs—dragging my ass to a stranger’s house at this ungodly morning hour to knock on the door and ask, ‘Lady, are you all right? We’re police detectives who received an anonymous tip you might have a hangnail. Perhaps we could lend you a pair of nail clippers?’” Derision and humor warred for dominance in Larrick’s tone, yet his sharp gaze continually scanned the perimeter in consideration of his partner’s unarticulated hunch. Yin and yang, they fit together, a clean-cut detective and his partner whose hair length had passed regulation specs weeks ago.
“You know this isn’t the first tip we’ve gotten, not to mention the fact that the other leads were solid and led to arrests. And while we’re at it, why don’t you step to the side? Standard police procedure when approaching an unknown situation.” Ethan turned sideways, standing by the door with his hand poised to knock on the solid oak. He hesitated. Moisture coated his palms, a rare occurrence. Scrutinizing the interior through the door’s narrow sidelights yielded nothing more than expected. Elegantly upholstered furniture, gleaming hardwood floors, and delicate bric-a-brac adorning the thick mantle and each side table completed the sophisticated picture. “Don’t see any problem. Maybe she’s fallen and can’t get to a phone.”
“You expected an old lady brandishing her curling iron? As for leads, I get mine from three-dimensional people while you get yours from a bunch of ones and zeroes. Why can’t our IT department trace your anonymous texts further than the loony bin? Though that’s probably appropriate, since your secret admirer’s last present consisted of a flower basket bigger than my TV, along with fur-lined cuffs. I’ve never laughed so hard I pissed myself. I thought that was hogwash, a myth made up by old ladies.” Larrick leaned over the iron railing to peer through the window. “Can’t see squat, bottom sill’s too high.”
“As my partner, you’re supposed to have my back, not stab me in the back. You didn’t have to broadcast it through the whole department by hanging the cuffs from the sprinkler system with a bunch of roses twined in them. Now my brothers won’t let up, and I’ve been subscribed to every kinky magazine known to the publishing world. You think I should know why some whacko chose me for their personal marionette?” Ethan suppressed a shudder before his partner gained more verbal ammunition. If his suspicions were correct, his informant was, in fact, a beautiful enigma with waist-length, chestnut hair and an emerald gaze capable of melting steel.
“Maybe because you were the youngest to make detective? Rising star, golden boy, and all that shit.”
“No. Probably afraid your redneck ways would rub off on them, or maybe because I’m the biggest sap.” Ethan’s gut rumbled, more of a warning sign from a well-heeled intuition than hunger. “Larrick, this doesn’t feel right.” Behind him, the slide of metal on leather let him know his partner just palmed his Glock. Three years of working together circumvented the formality of dissecting gut reactions.
A creak of leather sole betrayed Larrick’s backtracking to scrutinize the surroundings. “Side windows are lower. I’ll take a look.”
“Hood of her BMW is cold. Didn’t go anywhere recently.” Larrick’s harsh whisper halted a nearby squirrel scampering up a tree, its head cocked to one side while studying the strange human interlopers.
Sunshine warmed the first spring buds on the low shrubbery bordering the walkway to complete the idyllic setting. Nothing but peace and serenity, yet Ethan’s heart hammered against his ribcage like an aggressive punk drummer. With his partner disappearing around the corner, he again scanned the perimeter while the morning’s corrupted equanimity formed a sour wad in his chest. A lazy March breeze combed its cool fingers through his short hair while the deep foreboding received with the initial text message blossomed into multiple horrific scenarios, leaving one of them a corpse, their life’s essence forming macabre shapes on gleaming hardwood floors.
“I see bare feet beyond the kitchen island. Toes up. Probably female.” Larrick’s disembodied whisper just provided probable cause. “Backup?”
Bound by Shadows #2
Confusion and pain intertwined to delay Kaylee’s escape from the depths of a nightmare. Her subconscious’ attempt to alert her to some horror or another had been common the past two years, but this time the warning came with physical characteristics she couldn’t ignore.
The pain was an unwelcome element for which she could not account.
Cozy flannel sheets had never felt so rough under her cheek, nor had her head ached from a glass of wine. Despite the tomboy tag since adolescence, she appreciated certain creature comforts. The rough material scratching her face didn’t number among them.
A quiet foreboding swelled within that fuzzy twilight between the dream state and the hazy stages of surfing to consciousness. Sleep would be welcome if not for the musty odor and an undefined menace crowding her mind. Her brow furrowed as her pulse increased, awareness mounting with each painful throb.
Why is there dirt in my bed and what the hell is wrong with this mattress?
With each erratic contraction of her heart, the tension in her head increased, ratcheting like the shell around a drumhead until pain reverberated along every nerve. In grim anticipation, she reached to touch her temple. A crusty line of fibrous, threadlike strands crumbled in her brow line and snaked down to her ear.
Blood? What the hell?
Moving back to Portland had entailed a certain degree of compromise, yet shouldn’t include a cotton-mouth morning. This was too much. A light finger-comb revealed a large tangled knot and a painful lump over her ear.
Did I fall off the mattress and hit my head?
“Hey, kid. Wake up, damn it. Hurry.”
The harsh whisper embodied urgency and desperation that replicated and swelled within her chest.
What the fuck? The voice in her head wasn’t her own. Enlightenment would come after punching through the suffocating fog and fully emerging in the suddenly hostile world. Stabbing pain accompanied the dingy light spearing her eyes after cautiously lifting one lid.
A blur of flashbacks included sitting in an outdoor riverfront café enjoying the sunset with her favorite camera nestled in her lap. Snapping the riot of colors slipping into the ocean had equaled the day’s highpoint, nature’s way of assuring her she’d made the right decision in moving to Portland.
Now, for reasons evading memory, her gaze soft-focused on a scene defying logic.
“Kid, open your eyes before it’s too late. Grab the small rock by your head. Hide it behind you.”
Okaaay, evil mini me is crazy, and I will never drink wine again.
Five minutes of silence would help her collect her thoughts and allow time to search her virtual portfolio for whatever was causing the nausea-producing pests in her brain and stomach. Each vied for the position of top party host. Intuition whispered taking that time would be her undoing.
Instead of the distant hustle and bustle of city life swarming her senses, Kaylee found the intense quiet more disturbing than the harsh whisper. “Wait...what rock?”
Fragments of her surroundings wavered in and out of focus. Brick walls smeared with dirt were partially visible through the horizontal bars.
Horizontal bars?
She reached with shaking fingers to touch the rusted metal cylinders then tried to rattle them. They didn’t budge. A cramp in her thigh from resting in a semi-fetal position grew in intensity while her feet crowded against hard, cylindrical surfaces and prevented her from stretching out.
More bars.
She didn’t have the strength to yell.
The quick, indrawn breath was also not her own. “C’mon you stupid kid. Knock that off, or we’re both dead.”
A shower of dirt sprinkling her face and hair made her cough, the resultant sandy inhalation perpetuating the cycle.
The collaborative dream, having taken a southern turn into hell, brought another wave of anxiety along with nausea. Each of her senses plunged deeper into a dark abyss, taking logic and rational thought through a twisted, interactive roller-coaster ride.
Disorientation, chaos, and the first stirrings of panic took root like a well-fertilized seed that sent its growing tendrils sliding deep within the earth.
Loose dirt and small rocks covered the hard base and abraded her shoulder as she moved to a cramped position on her back. The changed perspective brought enlightenment.
That’s why the bars were horizontal.
“Fuck.” Details assimilated sluggishly. Dirt-covered metal comprised a bed, but it wasn’t in her apartment. Walls of brick as seen through her cage, lack of windows, and stale, dank air, pointed to an underground zip code.
Micro currents ferried a thick, putrid scent and muffled the faint, eerie groans of venting tunnels.
“What’s your name?” Again, a whisper twisted with annoyance and despair saturated the air.
Halting breaths and extreme concentration staved off the blind terror threatening her sanity.
“Kaylee. My name is Kaylee.” Slowly, she searched for the irritating heckler.
“Listen up, Kaylee. The bastard who took you is gonna be back soon, probably looking for a bit of afternoon delight. And he won’t be asking. He kidnapped you, too. I don’t know why.”
Kaylee’s befuddled mind took in more of her surroundings, low ceiling, dirt floor, cramped, cave-like room, and the caged, bedraggled woman three feet away. Purple and black surrounded her right eye and busted lip. Her shirt front hung in tatters, the ripped flannel exposing a large bruise above her breast.
“How long have we been here?” A torch along the wall cast flickering shadows over the adjoining cage, just short of her own.
Flickering—indicates an air current.
“The last thing I remember is shopping.” Tears trailed down the petite blonde’s mud-streaked alabaster cheeks which sharply contrasted the bruises marring her face.
“There’s a slight breeze coming from—that way.” Kaylee strained to see where the tunnel led. Pitch black. Some apparitional entity scuttled in the darkness beyond the seedy illumination and left the impression of ghostly stalkers. Stalkers that chittered in the dark. I’d rather see the boogeyman than rats. “We seem to be in an underground room?”
“Yeah. I think so. I woke up just like you, but the bastard tied my hands before my head cleared.” A sob choked further words as the victim’s wide eyes flickered around the room.
A cursory exploration of the small perimeter marked the filthy, tight confines, then the small, sharp-edged rock which fit in her palm. Instinct saw her sliding it behind her. Mud covered her jeans and colored her T-shirt and jacket. Bathing was the least of her worries.
“Someone slipped us a roofie.” Bruises, tattered flannel, and bound wrists conveyed the woman’s recent past.
Kaylee’s continued scrutiny yielded no clues of how to escape her dilemma. Even if she could squeeze her hand and arm through the bars’ two-inch gaps, she didn’t have the strength or leverage to break the heavy-duty padlock securing her prison.
“Yes. Yes. But at least you’re not tied up, yet.” The girl lifted her hands to reveal a double loop, plastic cuff. “See if you can break out.”
Author Bio:
Reily’s employment as an ICU nurse, private investigator, and work in the military police has given her countless experiences in a host of different environments to add a real world feel to her fiction.
Though her kids are her life, writing is Reily’s life after. The one enjoyed…after the kids are in bed or after they’re in school and the house is quiet. This is the time she kicks back with laptop and lapdog to give her imagination free rein.
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