It took him an hour to find out where Hennessey was staying by pulling his credit card receipts, and then I was on the road. He didn’t live too far from me, but this being Houston, that meant a thirty-minute drive time. The streets were mostly empty this late at night, with only the streetlights to guide me, like candles left in the window. For all I knew he wouldn’t even be home. And even if he were, he might not want me. Like Lance said, I was a passing interest for him. The rookie he could kiss in the supply closet for a little mutual stress relief. That was okay. I thought of the future differently now. It wasn’t about reaching toward some picturesque future with dinner dates and presents at Christmas. I couldn’t ever be that normal, and I had more pressing goals at the moment. It was about survival, body and soul. My soul needed this.
The hotel was in Montrose, quaint and built for extended stays, like an apartment with housekeeping service. The office was dark, appearing closed. I circled around back counting the numbers on the doors until I found the one Lance had told me. This was it. The phrase do or die had never felt more real to me than now.
I knocked on the door.
A minute later, Hennessey opened it. He covered his surprise quickly, leaning on the door and blocking the entrance. His bare chest gleamed, the sprinkling of hairs silvery in the moonlight. Drawstring pants hung low on his waist, revealing angled hipbones and a V-shape that drew my eyes down. My gaze skated over the bulge visible through the thin fabric and down to his bare feet. He was casual. Sensual. Perfect.
“How did you find me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I flashed back to when he’d shown up at my apartment. “FBI Agent.”
“Stalker.”
My voice came out husky. “I come bearing gifts.”
His gaze dropped to the jacket I wore. A plain trench coat that ended at my knees. Not dirty in the slightest, except for the red heels I’d paired with it. They sent a different message. They hinted there was nothing underneath the coat, except maybe a few scraps of lace. They hinted at a present waiting to be unwrapped.
A muscle in his jaw ticked. His eyes stared at some point beyond my shoulder. I expected him to protest. You’re only doing this because you were damaged. Even a token protest seemed likely. I only hoped he wouldn’t turn me away completely. He had to know I was only here because I needed to be.
“Forgiven,” he finally said, stepping back to let me in.
I sighed in relief that he wasn’t going to fight this, fight me. Maybe getting beaten and violated should have already broken me, but they hadn’t. I’d wanted to know how it felt for so long; the anticipation had been a form of preparation.
The reality had been more and less than I had expected. More, because everything hurt worse and cut deeper than I could have imagined. I’d received bland disinterest from my foster parents and rote chivalry from the men I had dated. It had been like living in a world of black and white, like having that world slashed with red. Beautiful and alarming.
The experience had also meant less, because I never understood why Laguardia had taken me. I only skated the surface with him, so distanced by metal and leather and glass and every other type of material he’d used between our bodies. Whips and restraints and dildos had formed a barrier between us. That was why he’d used them. But that hadn’t been fair to me. I was left with half an obsession, one side of the deviant coin. Now I needed to reach out and touch someone. I needed to be touched.
Hennessey remained by the door while I strolled around the room. He might have been a guard, a lock and key, if it weren’t for the troubled light in his eyes. I saw everything in terms of captivity now, in the cold continuum between freedom and pain. Neither had ever fulfilled me.
“Samantha.” The word was laden with questions, bending under their weight. Why I was here and what I wanted. Whether or not I was okay.
Who knew, really? Getting abducted might have broken my sanity. Or finding out my father was a serial killer. Or falling in love with my partner, a man who would never really respect me and never stick around. Any one of those was enough to drive me crazy, so what did it matter which one had pulled the trigger? If there was one certain victim in all this, it was my sanity.
My hands went to my belt. I untied the knot and held the sides of my coat together. I had to give him fair warning, so he could blot out the shock and pity from his eyes.
“There’s still some bruising.”
Something flickered in his eyes, but his expression remained stoic. “I see,” he said quietly.
He didn’t see. He couldn’t. I opened the coat and let it fall, closing my eyes at the sound of his stuttered breath. My front had mostly healed. Carlos had gone easier here, though I hadn’t realized it at the time. There were only a few lingering marks and some yellowish bruising. I looked like I’d been spray painted gold, uneven and whimsical. In the dim light of the lamp, the effect probably faded to a mere glimmer.