No, she couldn’t take the risk that someone else would be hurt.
If only she had family she could call…but she didn’t. Misery slid into her heart like a knife of ice.
But she’d manage. She always had. After blinking the blur from her eyes, she lifted her chin. “I can manage. Don’t worry about it.”
THE LITTLE SUB was like a cornered feral kitten, Galen thought. Despite her trembling, she was still hissing and spitting defiance. Yet, her big eyes had such a lost look that he wanted to simply hold her and promise she’d never be hurt again.
“Shhh.” Galen couldn’t keep from touching her. As he brushed her hair from her face, the purpling bruise on her cheekbone was exposed. His gaze met Vance’s to find a similar fury. “You’re going to need someone to take care of you for day or two, pet.”
“I don’t—”
“You have two choices,” Vance told her. “After the ER, I’ll either drop you off at one of your friends, or you’ll stay at our house for the night.” He smiled down at her. “To sleep and recover only.”
“Pick one, pet,” Galen prompted. If she chose a friend, he’d call and give them a quick rundown.
Vance’s expression was as gentle as Galen had ever seen it. “Sally, you can trust us, you know.”
She looked at each of them. “You won’t…push…me?”
Galen wanted to hit something. They’d fucked up during that session. “No, baby girl. No pushing.”
She glanced at the doorway through which the perp had disappeared, and the shudder that shook her small body made Galen want to kill the bastard. But her nod of acceptance was one of the finest rewards Galen had ever received. Even if she’d fled from them before, there was still trust there.
Vance kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, sweetie.” He glanced at Galen. “You’ll wind up matters here?”
“Ayuh.” He’d kept an ear on the bullshit that the perp—Frank Borup—was spouting. Some damage control might be needed.
“You can put me down now,” Sally said to Vance.
So independent. She was trembling and holding Vance’s shirt with a death grip, and still demanding to stand on her own feet. By God, she was something.
Vance merely smiled—patient bastard that he was. “I’ll put you down in the car. Galen will lock up for you after everyone leaves.”
Her whispered thank you was heartbreaking.
Vance brushed his lips over her hair and carried her out.
As the uniform brought the Borup bastard back into the apartment, the neighbors crowded around the open door.
Considering the crew had been willing to take on the bulky asshole for Sally, Galen didn’t give a fuck if they got a thrill by listening in. With a sigh, he leaned against the wall. His knee ached like a son of a bitch. But he wanted to see this through.
In the midst of the destruction, the uniform was checking for prior arrests.
Seated at the small kitchenette table, Dan was taking the Borup bastard’s statement. The detective’s expression turned to granite.
Galen’s attention sharpened.
“Yeah, I know it looks bad. But hey, we were just playing a little rough.” Borup’s expression was so sincere that Galen thought he might puke. “My girlfriend likes that. Asks for it.”
Time to shut him up before he damaged the little sub’s reputation with her neighbors. This was Dan’s town and he had rules to follow, but Bastard Borup wasn’t connected to any of Galen’s cases. He strolled over to stand beside Dan.
Hands still cuffed, Borup was seated sideways on a kitchen chair. Good-looking enough, muscular, and a complete asshole. What had Sally been thinking?
“She’s my slave,” Borup protested. “She wants me to treat her like—”
Galen’s snort of disgust turned the man’s attention to him. “I’ve had a fair amount of women who like calling themselves a ‘slave’—especially since that Fifty Shades crap. Women are funny that way, and judges know that. There’s no law against wanting to serve someone.” Galen crossed his arms over his chest. “Unfortunately for you, there are laws against slavery. And even more laws against beating the crap out of someone if you’re drunk. Especially a girl half your size. Especially since she broke up with you”— what had Z said?—“over a month ago.”
“She didn’t—”
“You shithead, everyone in the building heard her kick you out,” a man called from the doorway.
“Yeah, because you were ‘too rough,’” a young woman added, using her fingers to put quote signs around the phrase.
Excellent. Galen grinned. “Good witnesses there.”
“Agreed.” Dan caught the uniformed policeman’s attention and jerked his head at the doorway. “Get their statements. Including if they know why Miss Hart dumped him.”
“Yes, sir,” the uniform said, obviously pleased.
“Who the fuck are you?” Borup rose to glower at Galen.
“FBI.” Galen showed his ID. “Working on human trafficking in the area. I’d like to hear more about how Ms. Hart was your slave.”
The man’s face turned a pasty white. “I didn’t—” He took a step back. “We were just playing, never like for real.”
“So you got drunk, came over, and beat her up.” Galen prompted. “Nothing to do with any Master/slave business?”
“No. I mean, that’s right.”
Dan turned his head and winked at Galen.
* * * *
After parking beside Galen’s black sports sedan, Vance jumped out of his truck and walked around to the passenger side. Good thing they’d driven separately to Dan’s house to watch the game. Even better that Dan had his dispatchers bribed to tell him if any problems occurred at the homes of the Shadowlands trainees. That altercation could have been an ugly mess otherwise.
He opened the door and scooped Sally into his arms. He’d held her before at the Shadowlands—tonight she seemed so much lighter. So fragile. She was wearing a fuzzy robe, and it felt as if he held a kitten.
She slapped his arm and wiggled. “Hey, I can walk. I’m not broken, remember?”
He snorted and then smiled. In many ways, spitfire submissives were even tougher than the Doms. “No, you’re certainly not broken.”
But, despite her protests, he carried the stubborn little sub into the house. Maybe she could walk, but he had a need to hold her. With reluctance, he settled her into Galen’s favorite spot—the recliner section of the sectional.
Carrying a pillow, Galen walked into the great room and over to Sally. “Feel better?”
Ignoring his question, she sat forward, holding her stomach. “What about Frank? The guy who talked to me in the ER said they’d arrest him. Will they? Or do I need to go there and—”
“Easy, pet. He’s all tucked away in jail.” He handed her a key. “This is the one he had, but I talked with the apartment manager. He’ll change the locks tomorrow.”
“Oh God, thank you.”
At Sally’s smile, Vance felt his chest tighten. It was the first time he’d seen her brighten all evening.
“No problem.” Galen frowned slightly. “Are you going to relax now?”
“Okay.” She leaned back on the recliner.
Good enough. She was in their home. It was a step in the right direction. He glanced at Galen. “The docs said no bones are broken. Ankle is sprained but not badly. Bruises will heal.”
Galen nodded.
“If you do cleanup, I’ll get her crutches, then make tea,” Vance said to Galen.
“That works.” Galen was already rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.
By the time Vance returned with a tray of tea, Galen had cleaned the remnants of blood off her face, propped her left leg on a pillow, and put a bag of frozen peas on her ankle.
Sitting on the sectional beside Sally, Galen glanced at the tray and cleared a space on the flat armrest. “Vance makes tea for anyone who’s upset.”
“Happened to be my mother’s remedy for anything that ailed us,” Vance said.
A shadow crossed Galen’s face. Mrs. Kouros was as cold a woman as walked the earth. Very doubtful that she’d ever made her son any home remedies. Or shown him much love.
Vance had been luckier. He set the tray down.
“You don’t need to wait on me,” Sally protested and struggled to get up.
“Stay put.” Galen gave her a level look with the order.
She stared at him, then sank back onto the couch.
“Take it easy for now, sweetheart.” Vance took her hand and rubbed his thumb over the back. Such little hands. He handed her the cup, then sat on the coffee table.
After blowing on the steaming liquid, she sipped, then huffed a little laugh. “I like chamomile tea too, but how many teaspoons of sugar did you dump in this?”
“Lots.” Nothing like getting the blood sugar up.
As if to verify his statement, after a few more sips, some pink returned to her face.
“All right, now. Let’s have a report on where you’re hurting.” Galen leaned a hip on the arm of the couch.
“I’m fine.”
If only she had family she could call…but she didn’t. Misery slid into her heart like a knife of ice.
But she’d manage. She always had. After blinking the blur from her eyes, she lifted her chin. “I can manage. Don’t worry about it.”
THE LITTLE SUB was like a cornered feral kitten, Galen thought. Despite her trembling, she was still hissing and spitting defiance. Yet, her big eyes had such a lost look that he wanted to simply hold her and promise she’d never be hurt again.
“Shhh.” Galen couldn’t keep from touching her. As he brushed her hair from her face, the purpling bruise on her cheekbone was exposed. His gaze met Vance’s to find a similar fury. “You’re going to need someone to take care of you for day or two, pet.”
“I don’t—”
“You have two choices,” Vance told her. “After the ER, I’ll either drop you off at one of your friends, or you’ll stay at our house for the night.” He smiled down at her. “To sleep and recover only.”
“Pick one, pet,” Galen prompted. If she chose a friend, he’d call and give them a quick rundown.
Vance’s expression was as gentle as Galen had ever seen it. “Sally, you can trust us, you know.”
She looked at each of them. “You won’t…push…me?”
Galen wanted to hit something. They’d fucked up during that session. “No, baby girl. No pushing.”
She glanced at the doorway through which the perp had disappeared, and the shudder that shook her small body made Galen want to kill the bastard. But her nod of acceptance was one of the finest rewards Galen had ever received. Even if she’d fled from them before, there was still trust there.
Vance kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, sweetie.” He glanced at Galen. “You’ll wind up matters here?”
“Ayuh.” He’d kept an ear on the bullshit that the perp—Frank Borup—was spouting. Some damage control might be needed.
“You can put me down now,” Sally said to Vance.
So independent. She was trembling and holding Vance’s shirt with a death grip, and still demanding to stand on her own feet. By God, she was something.
Vance merely smiled—patient bastard that he was. “I’ll put you down in the car. Galen will lock up for you after everyone leaves.”
Her whispered thank you was heartbreaking.
Vance brushed his lips over her hair and carried her out.
As the uniform brought the Borup bastard back into the apartment, the neighbors crowded around the open door.
Considering the crew had been willing to take on the bulky asshole for Sally, Galen didn’t give a fuck if they got a thrill by listening in. With a sigh, he leaned against the wall. His knee ached like a son of a bitch. But he wanted to see this through.
In the midst of the destruction, the uniform was checking for prior arrests.
Seated at the small kitchenette table, Dan was taking the Borup bastard’s statement. The detective’s expression turned to granite.
Galen’s attention sharpened.
“Yeah, I know it looks bad. But hey, we were just playing a little rough.” Borup’s expression was so sincere that Galen thought he might puke. “My girlfriend likes that. Asks for it.”
Time to shut him up before he damaged the little sub’s reputation with her neighbors. This was Dan’s town and he had rules to follow, but Bastard Borup wasn’t connected to any of Galen’s cases. He strolled over to stand beside Dan.
Hands still cuffed, Borup was seated sideways on a kitchen chair. Good-looking enough, muscular, and a complete asshole. What had Sally been thinking?
“She’s my slave,” Borup protested. “She wants me to treat her like—”
Galen’s snort of disgust turned the man’s attention to him. “I’ve had a fair amount of women who like calling themselves a ‘slave’—especially since that Fifty Shades crap. Women are funny that way, and judges know that. There’s no law against wanting to serve someone.” Galen crossed his arms over his chest. “Unfortunately for you, there are laws against slavery. And even more laws against beating the crap out of someone if you’re drunk. Especially a girl half your size. Especially since she broke up with you”— what had Z said?—“over a month ago.”
“She didn’t—”
“You shithead, everyone in the building heard her kick you out,” a man called from the doorway.
“Yeah, because you were ‘too rough,’” a young woman added, using her fingers to put quote signs around the phrase.
Excellent. Galen grinned. “Good witnesses there.”
“Agreed.” Dan caught the uniformed policeman’s attention and jerked his head at the doorway. “Get their statements. Including if they know why Miss Hart dumped him.”
“Yes, sir,” the uniform said, obviously pleased.
“Who the fuck are you?” Borup rose to glower at Galen.
“FBI.” Galen showed his ID. “Working on human trafficking in the area. I’d like to hear more about how Ms. Hart was your slave.”
The man’s face turned a pasty white. “I didn’t—” He took a step back. “We were just playing, never like for real.”
“So you got drunk, came over, and beat her up.” Galen prompted. “Nothing to do with any Master/slave business?”
“No. I mean, that’s right.”
Dan turned his head and winked at Galen.
* * * *
After parking beside Galen’s black sports sedan, Vance jumped out of his truck and walked around to the passenger side. Good thing they’d driven separately to Dan’s house to watch the game. Even better that Dan had his dispatchers bribed to tell him if any problems occurred at the homes of the Shadowlands trainees. That altercation could have been an ugly mess otherwise.
He opened the door and scooped Sally into his arms. He’d held her before at the Shadowlands—tonight she seemed so much lighter. So fragile. She was wearing a fuzzy robe, and it felt as if he held a kitten.
She slapped his arm and wiggled. “Hey, I can walk. I’m not broken, remember?”
He snorted and then smiled. In many ways, spitfire submissives were even tougher than the Doms. “No, you’re certainly not broken.”
But, despite her protests, he carried the stubborn little sub into the house. Maybe she could walk, but he had a need to hold her. With reluctance, he settled her into Galen’s favorite spot—the recliner section of the sectional.
Carrying a pillow, Galen walked into the great room and over to Sally. “Feel better?”
Ignoring his question, she sat forward, holding her stomach. “What about Frank? The guy who talked to me in the ER said they’d arrest him. Will they? Or do I need to go there and—”
“Easy, pet. He’s all tucked away in jail.” He handed her a key. “This is the one he had, but I talked with the apartment manager. He’ll change the locks tomorrow.”
“Oh God, thank you.”
At Sally’s smile, Vance felt his chest tighten. It was the first time he’d seen her brighten all evening.
“No problem.” Galen frowned slightly. “Are you going to relax now?”
“Okay.” She leaned back on the recliner.
Good enough. She was in their home. It was a step in the right direction. He glanced at Galen. “The docs said no bones are broken. Ankle is sprained but not badly. Bruises will heal.”
Galen nodded.
“If you do cleanup, I’ll get her crutches, then make tea,” Vance said to Galen.
“That works.” Galen was already rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.
By the time Vance returned with a tray of tea, Galen had cleaned the remnants of blood off her face, propped her left leg on a pillow, and put a bag of frozen peas on her ankle.
Sitting on the sectional beside Sally, Galen glanced at the tray and cleared a space on the flat armrest. “Vance makes tea for anyone who’s upset.”
“Happened to be my mother’s remedy for anything that ailed us,” Vance said.
A shadow crossed Galen’s face. Mrs. Kouros was as cold a woman as walked the earth. Very doubtful that she’d ever made her son any home remedies. Or shown him much love.
Vance had been luckier. He set the tray down.
“You don’t need to wait on me,” Sally protested and struggled to get up.
“Stay put.” Galen gave her a level look with the order.
She stared at him, then sank back onto the couch.
“Take it easy for now, sweetheart.” Vance took her hand and rubbed his thumb over the back. Such little hands. He handed her the cup, then sat on the coffee table.
After blowing on the steaming liquid, she sipped, then huffed a little laugh. “I like chamomile tea too, but how many teaspoons of sugar did you dump in this?”
“Lots.” Nothing like getting the blood sugar up.
As if to verify his statement, after a few more sips, some pink returned to her face.
“All right, now. Let’s have a report on where you’re hurting.” Galen leaned a hip on the arm of the couch.
“I’m fine.”
