Hear Me (11 page)

I had been so confused when I first got back, lost. Everything had seemed foreign at the beginning. Now I examined the apartment with new eyes, like an investigator looking for clues. Who am I? And why would anyone want to live in this sterilized bubble of an apartment?

Clothes hung in the closet, neat. The cabinets were stacked with toiletries and linens, everything so orderly. I remembered this as my apartment; it just didn’t feel
lived
in.

I went to the fridge where some cut fruit and a jar of milk sat in the front. It was otherwise empty. No clue as to what I had eaten before, no rotten telltale food. Someone must have cleaned it out when I had gone missing. That was smart, not creepy. A missing persons report had been filed, police had been through here.

Despite my own vigorous assurances, I sat on the couch with my arms wrapped around my waist, hunched over as if invisible enemies might storm through the walls. I couldn’t just sit here. I needed to talk to someone.

Not Anya, because I had definitely used up as much support time as she could spare. Besides I wasn’t looking forward to another lecture on how a random Dom could beat me into healing. Been there, done that.

I flipped through the numbers on my phone. My old cell phone had disappeared when I did and never been found. This was a new fancy thing that I couldn’t really figure out, and the only numbers on here were Anya’s and a few other people’s I barely knew. As I stared at the cluttered screen, the phone vibrated and rang. I jumped, startled, and didn’t relax much when I saw who was calling.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ms. Cole. This is Detective Hines.”

Willy had called every week since I got back, but it had only been a few days since his last check-in. What could be wrong? I smoothed my hands over my skirt and told myself to get a grip. “What is it?”

“I finally got your old phone records here. They were sealed up real tight. Are you sure you don’t know anyone who’d have the motive or influence to do something like that?”

“No, I… ” That was the problem. I couldn’t remember everything. This life seemed so flat, so empty. Had I really lived like this? “I think I’m just your average girl.”

“An average girl with a boyfriend, looks like. One number appears pretty often, especially leading up to your disappearance. Know anyone by the name of Pike? Brendan Pike?”

A rushing sound filled my ears, drowning out his next words. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

The phone slipped from my fingers. Hines’s voice, tinny and small now, buzzed from the ground, and all I could think was: I really don’t belong here. I had to get out. Grabbing my purse, I took the elevator downstairs but paused in front of the doorman.

I would have passed him every day, but he gave me a blank look. “Can I help you?”

“Listen, I know this is going to sound strange, but I was gone for a while and I’m a little… well, I live in apartment 9A. Did anyone used to come visit me? Maybe regularly. Like… a guy?” Well, didn’t I just sound like a stupid little slut? That thought hit a little close to home.

He glanced at the door. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m new here, so I couldn’t really say.”

“Ah. While I was, uh, gone, someone cleared out my fridge. I was wondering who might have done that? Or—” I waved my hand. “—had access?”

“Let me check with the building owner.” He got on a wall phone. “Yes, sir. Sorry to bother you. There’s a woman here asking about who had access to her place. Yeah, 9A. Okay, I’ll tell her, sir.”

He hung up and turned to me. “That was the building owner. He says if you can wait in your apartment, he’ll come up personally and answer any questions for you.”

That wasn’t supposed to sound threatening. I was being paranoid. The doorman’s attention had already wandered away, even as I stood in front of him.

No way in hell was I going back upstairs.

I hit the pavement, letting the cold weather and my vigorous pace steal my breath. Finally I looked around. I recognized this intersection; I was only a few blocks away from the club where Anya was. I didn’t know if she could help me, but I didn’t have anyone else to turn to, anywhere else to go.

My knowledge of the city was like a dream, the more I grasped for it, the farther it slipped away. Instead, I allowed myself to wander. I turned a corner and saw a crowd of people in front of a building with bold lettering:
El Diablo.
Recognition flashed, and I knew I had found it.

At the door, the bouncer looked at me, his expression impassive, and then let me in ahead of the line. Still edgy, I slipped inside among the throngs of people. Most of them wore regular club gear, black shirts and tight skirts. A few people wore more obvious bondage clothes, but here in the front there was only drinks and dancing. Play was downstairs, I remembered.

I skated the edge of the bar until I saw Anya’s blonde mane of hair in a smoky corner. She was chatting with a cute young guy, and judging from his hunched position and glazed eyes, she was practicing her Domme moves again. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw me approach. “You decided to come!”

“I’m sorry to barge in like this, but I need to talk to you. Something’s happened.”

“Let’s talk later. Come on downstairs. There’s a guy who would be perfect for you.”

“Please, Anya.” My throat grew tight. “I’m scared.”

She stood and put her hand around my waist. “Oh, baby. You have nothing to worry about, a pretty girl like you.” She gave me a once-over, taking in the cream-colored business suit I still wore. She frowned. “I wish you would have changed before coming.” Then she brightened. “But he’ll have you out of that in no time.”

I felt like I was drowning. The bodies rocking me, air growing thin. “What’s happening?”

She leaned in close. “Trust me. He knows what you like.”

How would she know? Her insistence flayed open the fear I had kept so tightly under wraps these past two months. I had a premonition that if I went downstairs, I may never come back up.

“If you’re sure this guy is right for me,” I said, striving for casual, “maybe I’ll give him a try. Let me just freshen up.”

She looked like she wanted to come with me, and she’d have the perfect excuse. We used to go into the bathroom together and share dirt on the guys we were with. She always carried a flask in her purse, the hard stuff, and we’d take a shot of liquid courage before going back out.

“I just need a minute,” I said quickly. “I need to redo my make-up before I meet someone.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Do your lipstick at least. And hurry back.”

In the restroom, I leaned on the sink, staring into my bloodshot eyes. I looked a mess. Anyone could see I wasn’t up for playing. I probably wouldn’t even pass the monitor’s inspection. Why did she want me to play with someone so badly?

The door opened and I tensed, thinking it was Anya come to check up on me. But instead a slim woman in a black sheath and high heels came in, laughing at something on her way inside.

My breath caught in my throat. I knew her from somewhere, from another lifetime. I didn’t know her name, but I knew she cried at the first touch of pain, and then grew quiet when she fell into subspace. I knew the thing she feared most was needles.

I gaped at her as she went into a stall, waited dumbly until she came back out. She noticed me as she washed her hands.

She smiled. “Hi.”

“Um, hi. I’m sorry, but you seem really… familiar.”

“Oh, I remember you. You’re talking again.” She looked radiant, and as unaffected as if we were swapping stories about a day spa.

“Right. So. What…how did you get back?”

“The same as you, I suppose. When we’re ready. When we’re done.”

When we’re done—like turkeys in the oven. And she was
okay
with it?

“I don’t understand,” I said. “They shouldn’t have…I didn’t want that. I hated it there.
You
hated it there.”

Her face drew into a small frown, looking tragic and haunted and beautiful. “It’s not about what I like. I want to serve my Master.”

Her makeup was flawless, her up-do classy. The hem of her dress exposed long, shapely legs adorned with leather cuffs. Complete with a placid expression, she was a kinky Stepford wife.

“Um. I gotta go,” I muttered, angry and confused.

“It was great to see you again,” I heard her say before the door swung shut.

I edged around the crowd and pushed out an emergency exit that I knew from my many visits here wouldn’t set off an alarm. The stench of the street was a relief to me. I leaned against the concrete wall, catching my breath. The atmosphere in there had been stifling, Anya’s pushiness unsettling, but that slave was terrifying. Was that supposed to be me?

The door squealed open behind me, and I startled, thinking Anya had followed me. Instead it was the bouncer from the front. “You need to leave,” he said.

I glanced around the small alley. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m going, I promise.”

He shook his head. “Not here. You need to leave the club. The city. It isn’t safe for you here.”

He knows
. “How?”

With a shrug, he said, “That’s above my pay grade. You were marked for the program. Then you went away, and now you’re back except…”

“Except what?”

“You’re still you.”

“Just tell me something. Do you know someone named Brendan?”

He gave me a strange look. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t remember,” I whispered. “Please tell me. I can’t remember what I need to know, and it’s killing me.”

There was a long pause, where I knew he was debating the risk to himself.

Finally he said, “Some girls want to be more submissive. Hell, most submissives do. Comes with the mindset.” He shrugged. “Or even if they don’t want it. They go off, get a little training, and come back to their lives here, but now they’re the best subs in the scene. Everyone wants them, but they’re completely devoted to their Dom.”

I choked on the words. “And that happened to me?”

“You were Brendan’s girl, and then you were marked. What do you think?”

“I think I brought this on myself.” My survival instincts told me to run, but a growing horror chained me to the spot. Through everything that had happened, my helplessness had been my treasured safety blanket. Oh, the regular stand-bys of shame and guilt still visited me on occasion, but as long as it was all forced, I could absolve myself them. But if I had ever consented to that… then I was the monster.

I swallowed thickly. “What do I do?”

“Well, that’s the thing. Every girl that’s ever come back is different. To be honest… they seem pretty happy. But not you. I don’t see how they can let you go around, asking questions, stirring up trouble. It’s not going to look good. Something’s gonna have to be done. That’s why I said, you need to leave.” With that he reentered the club, leaving me in the cold.

I walked briskly into the shadows with nowhere to go. The club had turned out to be a snake’s nest; I was lucky to have gotten out alive. I couldn’t go back to my apartment, where Brendan was possibly waiting for me. I couldn’t go back to work tomorrow either and face Anya and my suspicions that she had been involved in my abduction—that she had tried again tonight.

I stood on an unfamiliar street corner and allowed myself to be jostled to and fro. What was I doing here? This wasn’t reclaiming my life. My friends had betrayed me; I felt so alone. This hadn’t been a life at all.

I never should have left Sam, but I could rectify my error. I had to flee somewhere, and the islands had never sounded more appealing. I took out as much cash as I could from an ATM and boarded the first flight south.

Chapter Eleven

The soft island breeze was a balm to my fear. It was sunny when I stepped out of the small airport, the brightness barely dimmed by the rain that pattered on the window of the cab. I arrived in a small building. This village was the farthest outskirts of civilization, and this grungy bar was at its center.

A bell tinkled as I pushed inside. My heart thudded—what if someone here had worked with Brendan? They might recognize me. But the bar was mostly empty, and no one looked very curious about a woman in a crumpled business suit and Manolo Blahniks.

The bartender had a face of leather and scruff, his eyes only visible in small red-black pools.

“Que pasa?” he asked.

I had fretted on the plane—how would I find Sam’s place? “Hi, I’m looking for someone with a boat. Un barco?”

“Forty dolares,” he said flatly.

I fumbled with the native currency I had exchanged at the last international airport.

“No,” he said. “American dolares.”

After handing over the requested amount, he left through the back door. I glanced awkwardly at the other patrons, one of whom seemed asleep—at least I hoped that’s what he was. It seemed I should follow the bartender, so I edged around the bar and exited through the same door. He was already several paces away, walking toward the water where a man sat on a small boat.

They spoke rapidly together, too fast for me to understand, as I caught up. The bartender gestured me inside the boat. “Sam…” Well, that was deflating, to realize I didn’t know his last name. Except I did, because now I knew Brendan’s. “Sam Pike.” I flipped through my little dictionary. “Un hombre. Cabina… solitario.”

He didn’t react to my words except to gesture me inside.

For all I knew, they could be taking me captive, leading me straight to Brendan’s men. I could imagine them bragging about it back in the bar later:
she didn’t even put up a fight!
I told myself, again, that all men weren’t bad, but the truth was I was in the middle of nowhere. Home wasn’t safe for me anymore. I needed to find Sam and hope he would take me back. Oh please let him take me back.

Gingerly, I climbed inside the small green boat. The man in the boat barely glanced at me but when I was seated, he tapped the engine with a wrench, and it sputtered to life. Well, that was a relief. The sight of the oars at the bottom didn’t escape me.