“No,” she answered, aware now of every inch of the man hunkered down before her. His broad shoulders pressed against the white shirt he wore, and she couldn’t help but focus on his open collar, and the five o’clock shadow that stained his jaw. “Everything Kirk had achieved would account for nothing if this had gotten out. He was a hero. He won a Purple Heart, for f*ck
’s sake. I only wanted his parents to remember that. How would it have helped an elderly couple by telling them the son that they loved so dearly had become so paranoid and delusional that he’d tried to strangle his own wife?” Ella felt her lips tremble as she stared into Max’s eyes. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You did the right thing. At least Kirk will be remembered for the guy he was. A great friend and husband.” He pulled her into his arms and gently stroked a hand into her hair as she rested her cheek against his shoulder. He felt warm and powerful, but he also felt aloof, too. She knew it would take him a long time to come to terms with everything he’d heard. Feeling totally bereft and alone, her tears slipped onto the white linen of his shirt, staining the crisp material.
“You can’t hate me any more than I hate myself right now,” she confided in him.
Max didn’t answer. He just breathed in, and then pulled slightly away. He held his hand to her neck. “I want you to get this looked at.”
“No, it’s okay.”
He shook his head. “Listen to me. You will go to the doctors and get them to look at it. Your voice is huskier than usual. Your vocal cords might be damaged.” When she didn’t answer he continued, “Be a good girl and promise me, Ella.”
His deep-voiced commands caught her by surprise, and she found herself agreeing to his wishes. There was something about the way he’d said it that she just couldn’t ignore. “Very well, Max. I promise.”
“Good.” He stood and began walking to the door. “I’ll get Becky to run you home.”
“No.”
“You will do as I say, Ella. I’ll have a member of my staff drop your car off at your house. You’re not in a fit state to drive. I want to know you arrive home safely. You’ve been through a hard time. I need to think. What you’ve just told me is hard to accept. But I’ve seen the bruising with my own eyes. Kirk was my best friend. I guess I didn’t know him that well. I just have to come to terms with everything in my own time.”
Chapter Three
Three months later
The heady beat of music drifted pleasantly across the air-conditioned room. “Another shot of whiskey, Sam.” Max handed his empty glass to the bartender of the Orange Grove Fetish Club.
The subdued lighting and half-dressed guests all added to the ambience. Without a sub for the last few months, he’d come along this evening to check out the scene. When the contract with his last slave had finished, they’d both gone their separate ways. He’d found enjoyment, but there was still something lacking. His girlfriend, Jessica, hadn’t opened up to him the way he’d hoped. Their relationship had not been serious. Max absently tossed some nuts into his mouth as Sam poured a large measure of Jack Daniel’s into a shot glass.
This time he would be more selective. He was in the mood for something more satisfying and meaningful. He wanted a sub to give him everything they possessed. Nothing of monetary value. He had enough money of his own. No, he wanted their complete submission. He wanted their mind, their body, and especially their soul. Now all he had to do was find the right woman. Finding a woman who could give him those things would be difficult, but not impossible. Max tossed some more nuts into his mouth. That way the prize would be much sweeter.
As he looked around the club he realized how much he missed his friend Kirk. This was the first time he’d visited the club since Kirk had died. It had been a stunning revelation when Ella had revealed the bruises. Almost two weeks after he’d died, they were still visible as a horrible, yellow-green color marking her slender neck. He’d been completely unaware that his best friend had been so ill, and it made him feel guilty as hell. At the time he’d known Kirk was agitated, and had put it down to Ella having an affair. Now he knew different. Kirk had been suffering from some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder. Most likely brought on by his time in Afghanistan. f*ck
, he must have seen some terrible sights out there, things that no man should see. He’d needed help, and he’d let him down in his hour of need.
Max swallowed the shot of rye whiskey in one gulp, and then indicated to the barman that he wanted a refill. If only he’d read the signs, instead of reacting badly toward Ella, he could have helped Kirk.
As Sam refilled his glass, he stared into the full-length mirror behind the bar. It was a good way of scanning the room without being too obvious. Some familiar faces came into view, and then one in particular. He recognized the ponytail and long, slender arms. He paid the tab and turned in her direction.