“I…I didn’t know it was a p-private p-party… I just c-came… Website…” Rachel shut her mouth, closing her eyes. She wished she was back on her cushioned mat in her studio, Jon behind her. His simplest command had made her feel quiet and still. Unsettled, in a good way. Not frightened and humiliated, not like this.
“Oh f*ck.” Cyrus swore. “Keller, come on. I didn’t know she wasn’t one of the guests.”
“Goddamn it, Cyrus, we’ve discussed this before. You guys take way too many f*cking risks. She has every right to bring assault charges against you and anyone else in that club who manhandled her, and it would serve you right. I’d love to throw your asses in that jail cell.”
“I don’t w-want…I j-just w-want t-t-to go…” She was fast losing the ability to talk, and the policeman seemed to realize it, because he curled a strong arm around her, rubbing her back in easy, firm strokes.
“You’re going to come with me, calm down and then we’ll talk and see what you want to do, miss. For right now, you take it easy.” He threw a glower at Cyrus. “You tell Natasha to keep her floor show inside from now on. She damn well better have an acceptable vetting process at her door by tomorrow night, or I’ll find every possible freaking code violation in this cesspool. I suppose if someone’s grandmother had pulled up asking for directions, you’d have mauled her as well?”
“F*ck, she was dressed for it, Keller. Maybe not as blatantly as—”
Rachel had her forehead pressed into Officer Keller’s lapel, so she felt a hardening of impressive chest muscles that matched the sudden, deadly tone in the cop’s voice.
“Trust me, Cyrus. Don’t go down the ‘she was asking for it because of the way she was dressed’ road. I’ll run your ass over.”
He didn’t wait for a response, not that she ever heard Cyrus give one. Though her teeth were chattering, she was cognizant of Cyrus thankfully retreating to the door, muttering. The officer helped her to her feet, keeping a supportive arm around her.
“Here we go.” He was directing her toward her car. “Ma’am, my name is Sergeant Leland Keller. I don’t have a vehicle here because I just got off shift. We’re near my place, and I was picking up dinner at that corner deli over there. But I tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to take your car to our precinct and I’m going to get a cup of coffee into you. We’ll let you clean yourself up and then we’ll talk, all right? And if you want a female officer, we have plenty of those.”
She shook her head. “Want to go h-home.”
“Well, you’re not doing that until I’m sure you’re okay, so there’s not going to be any arguing on that point, all right?” With that unrelenting assertion, he took her keys from her, still somehow clenched in her fist, so tight the metal had left impressions in her palm. Opening the passenger side, he folded her into the seat, secured her seatbelt around her and then closed the door. As he maneuvered his long frame into the driver’s side, sliding back the seat to accommodate him in the little compact, he gave her a penetrating glance. “Besides, I don’t think you want to go home to your husband looking like that.”
“Husband?” She followed his look to her left hand, the pale band of pigment that stood out so starkly there. She hadn’t put the ring back on once Jon had taken it off, a significant statement of its own. However, at the sergeant’s assumption, a hard spike of sobs tried to choke her breath again. “I’m not…married. Long story…but not married. No one. I have no one.”
It sounded so pathetic, said like that, but she laid her head back against the seat, too tired to say anything else. She didn’t want anything now except numbness.
Mission accomplished, right? In spades.
As Sergeant Keller put the car into drive, she stared into the side mirror at the retreating club. It looked like a demon crouched underneath a moonless sky, satisfied that it had devoured another soul.
* * * * *
The police precinct was as cheerless as she expected. Dingy tile, fluorescent lighting. Sidelong glances from jaded eyes that had seen it all. Sergeant Keller continued to be kind and attentive, however. Rather than fishing through the lost-and-found, he brought her a clean T-shirt from his own locker and a washcloth to use in the bathroom. Once there, she took one look at her face in the mirror under the harsh lighting—blood on her mouth, tear tracks, smeared mascara. All of it accentuated the crow’s feet at her eyes and stress lines around her taut mouth. She didn’t look again, except to steal quick glances to ensure she’d wiped all of it away that she could.
She’d been so rattled she’d left her purse at Leland Keller’s desk, but it didn’t matter. Any touch-up would look like clown makeup. Milo apparently had a hand the size of a tennis racket, for her cheek, eye and lip on the right side were swelling. The blouse had been stained with blood from the split lip.
The cotton T-shirt fell to her knees, almost hiding the rip in her slacks. Because one of her heels had broken in the parking lot and the other had been left behind, they’d also given her a pair of sneakers from the lost-and-found that were only about one size too big. She stuffed the broken shoe in the trash along with the blouse and came back out, following an officer’s direction to Sergeant Keller’s area.
He rose at the sight of her, gestured her to his guest chair. “You look better. Hot compresses and a good bath should help, a few aspirin.” He touched her face, tilting it away from him, and his jaw hardened. The way he touched her, so easy and confident, made her go still. Desperately, she told herself it was a police thing, the female perception of safety, protection. Believing anything else meant that she was going to have to tear out her mind, because it seemed the only way to stop it from going down this path over and over again.
While she believed in Fate, karma and the forces that drove destiny, she couldn’t possibly believe that suddenly Doms were everywhere, like a damn convention was in town. She’d gone years without meeting a single one outside of the Internet, after all. It was far more likely she was starting to hallucinate, like a crack addict snorting up everything from salt to talcum powder, or ground glass.
He released her at last, gave her a nod. “Yeah, you’ll be all right. That would be Milo’s handiwork there. They’re a hardcore pain club, miss. They dish it out without causing ER visits or police reports, mostly, but they sure as hell don’t observe enough of the rules for the things they do. It results in what you experienced tonight, among other things. I know you were pretty upset when I found you. Were you checking out the club…or were you lost and seeking directions?”
He asked it with a carefully straight face, giving her the out for her dignity, but she thought lying to a cop would be far more humiliating. “I was checking it out. I thought…” As her voice quavered, he pushed a hot cup of coffee into her hands. She clasped the warmth to her, inhaling the familiar scent of coffee beans. Something normal. “I made a mistake, is all.”
“That’s as may be, but a mistake shouldn’t lead to this.” He gestured to her face and general state. “I wasn’t just trying to spook Cyrus, miss. You have every right to file assault charges. They didn’t ask you for your consent, did they? Didn’t have you sign anything coming in the door or go over any safety restrictions, health issues?”