THE NEXT DAY, KIMBERLY STRONG-ARMED Samantha into staying home and taking the day off.
“I can handle things at the store,” she said, talking over Samantha’s protests. “There’s nothing happening today that needs your attention. Relax, veg in front of the television. Do your nails or something.”
“Thanks, Kimberly,” Samantha said, relenting. “I owe you one.”
“I owe you a lot more than one, so just take this off my tab.” Kimberly gathered up her bag and keys. “Enjoy your day. I’ll see you later.”
~ * * * ~
As soon as he got off the elevator, Brian stormed onto the floor, strode past cubicles and desks without looking anyone in the eyes, and barged into his own office like he was ready for a fight. When he got to his desk, he slammed his computer bag onto it with a bang that could be heard from three cubicles away, making the heavy desk shudder. The office assistant outside who had been waiting for Brian’s arrival for half an hour so she could ask him a question quickly thought wiser of it and walked away.
A minute later, Jake was outside Brian’s office, knocking on the wall outside the door.
Brian opened his computer, sat down, and kicked the computer bag under his desk. “I don’t want to hear it, Jake!” He shouted at his boss.
Jake quietly shut the door. “I take it my talk with Samantha didn’t go as intended,” he said.
Brian pressed his palms down on his desk. “I don’t know, Jake, did you intend for her to tell me she needs time away from me to ‘think’?” Brian bristled. “Is that how you thought you could get me to go to Chicago?”
“God, no, Brian!” Jake said. “Look, I see you’re upset, but if you could just calm down and let me explain–”
“You’d better start your fucking explaining now, Jake, because if you’re waiting for me to calm down, you’ll be waiting a long fucking time!”
Jake did his best to explain what had happened during his talk with Samantha, rationalizing his behavior along the way despite Brian’s looks of disbelief.
“How was I supposed to know Samantha would think it’s a big deal you knew Dana before?” Jake ended. “Samantha is your sub now, isn’t that what’s important?”
“Why the hell would you think it’s okay to tell Sam Dana was my guest at the Hotel Bentmoore?”
“I thought she knew,” Jake replied.
Brian wasn’t buying it. “Why? Why would you think that?”
“I…I don’t know,” Jake finally admitted. “I guess I thought you must have told her. But you’re right, that was stupid, I should have realized you wouldn’t do that. Maybe I thought Dana told her, that night at the club…I don’t know.” He rubbed his face with his hands and sighed.
Brian leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “You fucked up, Jake,” he said. “Not just with me and Samantha, but with Dana, too. Did you tell her what you told Samantha?”
“No. Believe me, we argue about enough shit without me handing her this kind of ammunition against me.”
Brian shook his head, looking rueful. “I’m sorry, Jake. But you knew what you were getting into with Dana when you decided to pursue her. Your wish to have Dana as your so-called slave didn’t give you the right to mess things up between me and Sam.”
If any other person had talked to Jake the way Brian just had, he would have found his ass out the door. But Jake just ran his hands through his hair and grimaced. “I know. I’m sorry, man. I fucked up. Is there anything I can do?”
“No. Don’t try to do anything. Just stay out of it now.”
Jake nodded, rising to leave. But as he opened the door to exit, he turned around. “You know, Dana and I have our problems. But our problems are much bigger than what you and Samantha seem to fight about,” he said. “Dana and I won’t last; I know that. But what you and Samantha have is on a whole other level, Brian. I know I fucked up, but is this really something you two can’t work out? Cause from where I’m standing, this is a really stupid thing to risk your relationship over.”
Before Brian could reply, Jake walked out of the room and shut the door behind him.
~ * * * ~
Brian gazed at the closed door for a good few seconds before shaking his head and turning on his laptop. Jake was a genius when it came to business, but when it came to women, he was an idiot.
Or was he?
Brian fiddled with a paper clip sitting at the corner of his desk, giving the matter some thought. Samantha was furious with him, and rightly so…but so what? Did she think they would never fight, that all their time together would be rainbows and roses? Couples fought, it happened sometimes, even between subs and Doms. The thing to do was to work the issues out.
But his little sub didn’t like arguments, because they scared her. They made her feel out of control, and Samantha always had to retain some control over everything in her life.
Look at the way she ran her own business, owned her own home, even the way she took care of her mother, Brian thought. Samantha always had to have things according to the way she wanted them, and if she couldn’t trust others to make that happen, she made it happen herself. It was why she would never make a good house slave: she could never give up that much control over her own life. Which was fine with Brian; he had no interest in owning a slave. He loved Sam just the way she was.
Except when her need for control stopped her from communicating with him. Then it drove him crazy.
Samantha’s determination to be in charge of her own life didn’t seep into all aspects of it, Brian knew. It certainly wasn’t true when it came to submission and pain. Samantha needed to be forced to submit, and she needed the pain to get away from her, to feel out of control, because that was when she could really let go and be herself. Even her smart-assed tendencies were her way of begging him to tear down her mental walls, break open her shell, and set her free, something she couldn’t do alone.
Brian had managed to tear down a lot of those walls for good, he could feel it. He was also sure Samantha wanted him to keep going. But she was afraid, afraid of being hurt, afraid of being left on her own again and forced to pick up the pieces. So she pushed him away and braced herself with the other parts of her life she could control no matter what.
For a moment, Brian debated if he had been too lenient as her Dom, and wondered if he should have put Samantha on a tighter leash. But he quickly decided no: Samantha needed her freedom; it was part of her nature. She wanted to let Brian in, but he needed to do it slowly, one step at a time. If he got too iron-handed, she would push him away completely.
But…wasn’t that exactly what she had done? Pushed him away, because she got scared?
Why was he passively accepting the situation the way she wanted him to, and keeping his distance from her? Why wasn’t he over there right now, demanding she speak to him?
Because she would refuse.
So what? Was he her Dom or not? He was perfectly within his rights to tie her up, bundle her into his car, and handcuff her to a chair until she agreed to talk this out with him.
A smile played across his lips as the image popped into his head. He would not cuff her to a chair…not unless he had to. But he would certainly order her to talk to him. And there was no time like the present.
But she was probably not home, he realized. Given the hour, she was most likely at her shop. He pictured her in that small back room of hers, barricaded behind all those boxes…the same way she barricaded herself away from anything and anyone she thought might hurt her.
Then Brian frowned. There was something about the boxes, some nagging worry he had forgotten about…something that had felt important at the time, until Jake’s demands had distracted him yet again….
Brian sat up in his chair. The paperclip dropped onto the desk, hopping from one end to the other until it lay flat.
The police detective had said they found three sets of prints on the boxes: Those belonging to Samantha, her sister, and her sister’s boyfriend, Scott.
The boxes only came in on Wednesday morning. Samantha had said so. But the time of the break-in had been on a Wednesday night.
So how had Scott’s prints gotten on those boxes?
Maybe he had been in the shop that morning? But Samantha hadn’t mentioned seeing him. Would she have mentioned it? Maybe Scott had gone into the shop to visit Kimberly, and Samantha had not even known? It was possible…but felt unlikely. Worse than that, it felt wrong.
Worry began to nag at the back of Brian’s head. He had never liked Scott, but had kept his opinion to himself out of respect for Samantha’s sister. But if Scott was up to something…if he was in any way a danger to his sub….
Brian had to find out when, and how, Scott had managed to get his prints on those boxes. He had to know when he’d been inside Samantha’s shop, and what time.
He had to talk to Samantha, and it could no longer wait.
~ * * * ~
From her spot on the couch, Samantha heard the front door rattle and open.
“Kimberly?” She called. “Did you forget something?”
No answer came, but footsteps drew closer to the living room. The hairs on the back of Samantha’s neck tingled; even within that split second of time before the footsteps came into the small family room, she knew something wasn’t right. The weight of the steps was too heavy to belong to her sister.
“Kimberly?” She said again in a high-pitched trill as the footsteps were almost upon her. Samantha turned around to see the source of her anxiety. Her breath released from her chest in a long whoosh when she saw who it was.
Scott came into the room. He had his hands in his pockets, and a surprised smile on his face. “It’s me,” he said. “Hi, Sam.”
“Scott.” Samantha’s eyebrows rose. “Kimberly isn’t here. She’s at the shop.”
“I know,” Scott said. “I’m guessing she also told you we broke up.”
“Yes, she did. I’m sorry, Scott.” What the hell was he doing here?
“I’m sorry, too.” He let out a long sigh. “Listen, can we talk? Cause I’m in pretty bad shape,” he added when he saw Samantha’s cloudy look of suspicion. “I could really use someone to talk to.”
“Okay. For a few minutes,” Samantha relented. Scott did look out of sorts: his hair was dirty, and his shirt was all wrinkled, like he had slept in it.
“Thanks,” Scott said. “I’m gonna go pour myself a drink. I could really use one.” He disappeared into the kitchen. Samantha scowled, feeling like she’d just been duped. But she didn’t know how to extricate herself from the situation; Scott was now well planted in her kitchen.
She rose from the couch and went into the kitchen herself, ready to ask him to leave, only to find him sitting at the table, sipping a drink. Another filled glass sat across from him, waiting.
“Lemonade,” he said, motioning her toward the glass. “You like lemonade, yeah?”
“Yes,” Samantha felt forced to agree. She slid into the chair directly across from him. “What do you want to talk to me about, Scott?”
He lifted his glass to his lips and took a sip. “You’re sister,” he said after swallowing, “she’s really an amazing person.”
“I know,” Samantha said, watching him. Scott looked nervous, like he was waiting for something.
He continued, “But she and I–we aren’t compatible. She needs a guy who can keep up with her, someone who has the same energy she has. I’m just not that guy, you know?”
“Mmm.” Samantha took a swallow of her lemonade just so she wouldn’t have to answer him.
“But she also needs a guy who will let her take the lead in the relationship. Someone who can bow down to her a little.”
Samantha choked as she inhaled the lemonade with her gasp. “Bow down to her?” She asked tersely. “Kimberly doesn’t need a guy who bows down to her. She just needs a guy who will listen and respect her.”
“Maybe,” Scott said, shaking his head and looking all too smug for Samantha’s liking. “But let’s compare that to the kind of guy you need. You need a guy who takes control, steers you in the relationship, don’t you Sam?”
Samantha stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“I did some checking up on your boyfriend Brian. He used to work at this hotel that caters to all sorts of fetishes and perversions. He has quite the reputation as a Sadist. But then, you already know that, don’t you Sam?” His voice held a tone of colluding confidence, like they were sharing a dirty secret.
Samantha’s throat tightened. She took a long swallow of her lemonade, draining the glass, and got up to put the glass in the sink so she wouldn’t have to look at Scott’s smug face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, rounding on him. But she realized she must have turned too quickly, because she almost lost her balance, and had to grab onto the counter to steady herself.
“Don’t lie to me, Sam,” Scott said. “You don’t do it very well. You’ve been to that hotel, haven’t you? That’s where you met Sinclaire.”
“Scott, I…” Her voice trailed off as she closed her eyes. Samantha couldn’t get her thoughts together; she couldn’t think. Something was wrong. She opened her eyes, and stared at the sunlight dancing off the rim of her glass in the sink.
As she swayed on her feet, feeling more lightheaded by the second, a memory snaked into her head: that of the night at the dance club, when Scott had handed her a different kind of drink.
But then later, her sister had gotten sick…much the same way Samantha felt sick right now. She felt drunk, woozy, and slightly queasy.
Samantha had felt pretty sure that night Kimberly had been drugged, but she had thought the spiked drink must have come from the free round, courtesy of their mystery patron. But the mystery patron had been Brian, not one of the unpleasant creeps who had been bothering them earlier. Which meant if Kimberly had been drugged, the spiked drink had to have come from the first round.
The one Scott had brought them.
The memory was right there, in crystal clarity: Samantha and her sister grabbing the drinks, tasting them, then tasting each other’s…and trading.
“You drugged that drink at the club,” Samantha whispered. “Only it wasn’t supposed to be Kimberly’s. It was supposed to be mine.”
“Yes,” Scott said. He was standing right behind her. Samantha spun around, and this time, she did lose her balance, and would have fallen to the floor if Scott hadn’t caught her. He didn’t let go of her arm once she was steady on her feet. “It was a spur of the moment decision, one that ended up going wrong. But I learn from my mistakes.”
~ * * * ~
Brian called Samantha’s cell phone a fourth time, and when that didn’t work, he called her store’s direct line. But he didn’t wait for her to pick up before he got into his car; he was already driving, on his way over. He just wanted to do Samantha the courtesy of letting her know he was coming. Confronting her at her place of business was bad enough; making a scene in front of customers would be going too far, even for him. Hopefully, she’d be sequestered in that small back room of hers, and they could talk privately there.
Kimberly picked up on the second ring.
“Kimberly, it’s Brian,” he said, his voice coming out loud inside the car.
Before he could say anything more, Kimberly said, “Sam’s not here.”
Brian frowned, putting his foot on the breaks as he hit a red light. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, she’s not here. She took the day off.” Kimberly’s voice was curt and dismissive. “I have to go help a customer. Goodbye.” She hung up.
Brian hung up, too. His frown deepened. Worry grew, prickling up his spine and along his scalp. If Samantha wasn’t at her shop, why wasn’t she picking up her cellphone? Where was she?
Cars blew their horns at him as Brian cut into the left lane as soon as the light turned green. He made a quick U-turn and sped back the way he had come.
Samantha had to be home. She had to be. It was the only place Brian could think of.
But his feeling of foreboding would not go away. He had to see her for himself, safe at home.
~ * * * ~
“You know, I always thought you and I would make a good fit,” Scott said, smiling into her dazed and scared face. “Much better than me and your sister, anyway. I could tell the first time I saw you, you were the kind of woman who would know her place. You wouldn’t be bossy, or bitchy, or try to lead me around. It’s too bad I met your sister first. Here, sit down.” He steered her toward a kitchen chair, and Samantha had no choice but to slump into it. The room was beginning to tilt.
Scott knelt down beside her, watching her eyes grow glassy. “Of course, if I’d known just how kinky you are, I would have dumped your sister a long time ago and made a play for you.” His voice was soft and dreadful. “I wouldn’t have gone to so much work to get you to look at me. That’s all I wanted you to do, you know. Look at me like I’m a man, and not just your sister’s boyfriend. But Sinclaire kept showing up first, and getting in the way….”
“What are–what are you talking about?” Samantha’s voice slurred.
“Nothing,” Scott said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. He may have managed to get you away from me last time, but not now, not this time. Your sister’s not here to interfere, either. This time, Samantha, it’s just you and me. And I’m going to show you what you’ve been missing.” He ran his finger down her cheek. Samantha shrank back and whimpered, but when she tried to rise, Scott pulled her back down.
“Oh, no. Not this time. You’re not getting away from me this time,” he murmured. “We’re going to play, you and I, in the way you like. Yeah, I know what you like: you like to play hard. You like it rough, don’t you? I can give you that. Just relax, let the drug work. I’ll take care of everything.”
~ * * * ~
Brian’s brows furrowed as he pulled up next to Samantha’s driveway. Another car was parked on the other side of the street, and Brian recognized it from the night of Samantha’s break-in: it was Scott’s car.
What was Scott’s car doing here?
Brian killed the engine, got out, and took long strides toward Samantha’s front door.
~ * * * ~
The trill of the doorbell belted across the room, making both Samantha and Scott jump. Samantha began to rise, but Scott pulled her back down for a second time, putting a cautionary finger to his lips.
“Samantha!” They heard from the other side of the door. “I know you’re home, Samantha! Open up!” Brian’s voice bellowed through the walls.
Scott swore softly under his breath. He put his hand on Samantha’s shoulder, gripping it painfully as he rose from his kneeling position. Samantha whimpered again.
“Samantha, I swear, if you don’t open this door I’m going to break in!”
Scott grabbed Samantha by the arm, dragged her to the counter, and got one of the long cutting knives out of the knife rack. “I’m not going to let Sinclaire get in the way this time,” he said. “You’re going to go to the door and tell him you’re not feeling well, that you’ll talk to him tomorrow, understand? I’m going to be right next to you. You tell him anything else, and I’ll cut you up. Him, too.” He pointed the knife to her side to let her know he meant business, then dragged her toward the front door as Samantha stumbled and tripped over her own feet.
Brian was still banging on the door hard enough to shake the door frame when Scott unlocked it and swung it open, just enough for Samantha to peer around the corner. Scott hid behind the door, the knife still poised at Samantha’s side.
~ * * * ~
Brian hadn’t been bluffing when he threatened to break down Samantha’s door. The unease that had started earlier at the back of his head was blooming into alarming fear, as intuition told him something was wrong, very wrong–and Brian never doubted his intuition.
As he looked over the door, giving quick debate whether to give it his leg or shoulder, the knob turned, and the door was pulled open. But it cleared just a few inches, just enough for him to see half of Samantha’s body blocking the entrance.
Her appearance did nothing to dissipate Brian’s angst. Samantha’s eyes were glassy and dilated, and her face was grey. She was swaying on her feet, and every time she tilted too far toward the door, she flinched in an odd way.
“Samantha, what’s wrong with you?” He put his hand on the knob to spread the door open further, ready to come inside.
Samantha stopped him. “Go away,” Samantha said. “I’m not feeling well.”
Brian paused. She really did not look well. She also looked petrified, which baffled him. Why was she so afraid to see him?
“Samantha, let me in. You need to lie down.”
“I do need to lie down, but you shouldn’t come in. I’ll…I’ll infect you. You should go.”
Brian didn’t move off the steps. He watched the way her chest moved, the way her eyes darted and danced, the way she gripped the door like it was the only thing supporting her…the way she let out a tiny whimper every time she leaned too far to the right.
“Samantha, please, let me in,” he tried again. “I can get you something–”
“No!” Samantha yelled, surprising him so much he stepped back. Her voice softened. “No, Brian. I don’t need you to come in. Just…just go.”
Brian sighed and turned his head around, gazing toward the other side of the street. For a moment, he looked like he was about to walk away.
~ * * * ~
Samantha wanted to scream at him to come back, to do something, to help her…but every time she opened her mouth, the knife poked into her side, stifling her words and breath. She could barely stay on her feet at this point; the drug, whatever it was Scott had given her, was doing its job. Maybe, if she had been clear headed, she could have thought of some means to escape. But as it was, she couldn’t think of anything beyond keeping Brian from getting hurt.
Brian sighed as he gazed at the street, looking like he was about to give up and leave.
Please don’t walk away. Please don’t leave me. Help me.
Then his face turned back around, and even through her stupor, Samantha saw his expression had changed. His face had tightened, his eyes had sharpened into focus, and his stare cut into hers like razor knives. But when he spoke, his voice was velvety soft.
“Your neighbors have very nice flowers out in their yard,” he said. “Have you noticed, Samantha?”
“Yes,” she said, confused.
“They have a lot of jasmine, too,” Brian continued. “Do you smell it? Do you smell the jasmine, Samantha?”
Samantha almost let out a sob of relief. “Yes,” she said. “I smell it. I smell the jasmine, Brian.”
“I understand.” The words were out of his mouth, in the air. Then Brian kicked the door open so hard, Samantha was propelled back from the violence of it, and ended up falling down on her bottom in the hallway.
The blow of the door against his body made Scott drop the knife; it clanged to the floor. Brian kicked it away from him, swung the door away from Scott’s sandwiched body, and managed to give him a fleeting look of rage before punching him in the face.
There was a sickening crunch. Scott’s head whiplashed into the wall as blood exploded from his nose and mouth. Then Brian pulled him out from behind the door and punched him again, and again, alternating fists. Scott had never been a strong man, and by the third punch, he was unconscious.
Brian let go of Scott’s limp body, letting it fall to the floor, and went to kneel over Samantha. He patted her cheeks and opened her eyelids. Her eyes were rolling inside their sockets, and her breathing was shallow.
“Samantha? Samantha!” Brian shook her by the shoulders, trying to get her to respond. “Jesus, Samantha.”
Brian pulled out his cell phone from his pocket. Then, thinking better of it, he ran to Samantha’s landline phone in the kitchen, the one the police could trace, and dialed 911.
It only took a few moments for the police and paramedics to arrive. Scott didn’t wake up during those long few minutes. Neither did Samantha. Brian climbed into the back of the ambulance with her and held her hand, talking to her, trying to get her to respond. Once they were at the hospital, the doctors wheeled her down the hallway and past a pair of security doors, and Brian was left alone.
