In Control (7 page)

Seth came to his rescue. He set his glass on the table and fixed him with a cold, steady regard. "I got a voice mail last night from Annabel's roommate. She didn't sound pleased."

Since he'd obviously already been briefed, Zach didn't try to sugarcoat it. "I fucked up."

"That was the impression I got after hearing both messages."

Yeah, he'd called Seth. In retrospect, that seemed a bitch move, but he'd spent the last six years looking to ranking men for guidance. Seth came across as an experienced man, especially regarding this civilian BDSM life. He also appeared to know something about Jeremy and Annabel. He needed guidance--that much was clear--but didn't quite know how to ask for it.

"You want to talk about it."

Seth phrased the words as a statement not a question. Zach heaved a sigh and pushed away his plate of food, then wrapped his hand around the base of his glass of beer. He didn't drink from it. Rather, he pulled it close and stared into the amber depths as shame twisted through him.

"The mindfuck went bad."

"Never a good outcome. Spit it out."

He followed orders and narrated the story from the moment she'd finally called to the moment she'd bolted out the front door. Seth listened without interruption until Zach wound down. Silence fell between them, amplifying the drone of voices and the clatter of dishes inside the bar's kitchen. At last, Seth spoke.

"Did she piss on my carpet?"

"What? No."

"She usually pisses at the sound of a belt buckle when she feels trapped."

"Jesus--"

"I found out the hard way. I was in charge of her introductory training. Like you, I slammed into that trigger." Seth paused to drink again from his cola. "She has a high pain tolerance, but can't take the sound of a belt buckle."

Zach swallowed against the wave of nausea. "Because of her childhood?"

"No doubt," said Seth. "She told you?"

"I saw the scars. She cried for her mom. I had no idea." The excuse soured on his tongue, but it was all he had. "No idea."

Seth swirled the ice in his glass and looked thoughtful. "She may not know herself. Not entirely. It's why I never again used a belt on her."

"Not even that night?"

Explanation wasn't necessary.

"Never again," Seth repeated with cold emphasis.

And here Zach had been, ready to rattle the thing in her ear to get a reaction. It was only pure chance he'd been stopped from doing just that. Chance, maybe Fate, had saved his ass...and saved her from him. Hell, he'd made it out of the desert, from under a killing mountain of supplies, to--what? Torture an American citizen with his dick-headed arrogance?

The conversation, as well as his thoughts, had become uncomfortable. Time to lighten the mood. "But a chair leg is okay?"

Seth's mouth twitched. "A two-by-four actually."

"The fuck?" Zach yelped.

Seth laughed, leaving him to realize he'd been punked. His laughter joined the other man's. His waitress approached their table, a check folder in one hand and a carryout container in the other.

He accepted both and tended to matters before returning his attention to Seth. "She claimed innocence to the crime of stealing his money. She seemed honestly surprised Jeremy was broke. Of course, his story says different."

"Hmm," said Seth.

"You once mentioned questions surrounding the financial submission."

"Aye."

The hairs along the nape of his neck shivered. This time, Zach didn't ignore the warning. "Tell me what happened."

Seth took another pull from his cola, his attention seeming to be riveted on the ice in the glass that tumbled as he raised and lowered it. Zach waited, watching as Seth worked through something in his mind. Just when he was about to give up, when it seemed Seth wouldn't say anything more, he did.

"I'll tell you the relevant portion."

So Zach relaxed in the booth and let Seth recount the events of six months ago. He repaid the other man's courtesy and didn't interrupt--until the Seth said something that sent him reeling. He jerked, knocking his beer an inch or two away from him, and shook his head.

"What?" It was too goddamned unbelievable. There must be some mistake.

Seth pushed a napkin in his direction and nodded at the table. Zach looked down and saw a pool of beer beside his glass. Automatically, he dragged the napkin through the spill, not really caring about the beer on the table.

"We can't be talking about the same guy..."

Seth offered a half-smile. "I didn't see it coming either."

"You're saying my brother recorded the beating on his cell phone while jacking off?"

Implacable, unmoving, and completely neutral, Seth replied, "Yes, that's what I said."

He shook his head again, but the realities refused to settle. Everything he knew about Jeremy, a
lifetime
of knowing this man, was shattered. It didn't make sense. His brain refused to accept it.

"Jeremy? A sadist? I..." Zach stalled out.

Seth resumed his story. "It was clear the girl had slipped elsewhere. It was time to stop. Your brother continued to ignore her cries. I turned and found him rubbing one off, the cell phone in his other hand. Recording."

The dryness in his mouth alerted him to the fact his jaw was hanging open. He closed his mouth.

"That was when I concluded Annabel wasn't safe there and stopped everything. When I left, I took her with me. I checked on her, of course. JoBeth indicated she was fine and didn't need a
dick-headed jackass
"--his fingers made quotation marks in the air as he emphasized the words--"for anything. I haven't seen one hair on her head until I pointed her out to you last week."

Zach sat, somewhat frozen, in the booth for long minutes as his mind raged through the situation. In the end, there was only one conclusion to be drawn. He exhaled a long breath and passed a hand over his face. "She tries to recover from a bad experience and meets up with me, who fucks her up more."

"That appears to be the sequence of events."

Annoyance pricked at Seth's too-casual tone. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"

"About what she chooses to keep private?"

"I'd have appreciated knowing. I wouldn't have brought out the belt."

"I'm supposed to betray her secrets on the off chance you rattle a belt during your non-consensual mindfuck?" Seth shook his head and drank from the rapidly emptying soda glass. "Don't use me as an excuse."

He wasn't. Well, not intentionally. "Any port in a storm."

"Not this one, devil dog."

Fucker
. But Zach couldn't blame him. If the boot were on the other foot, he wouldn't be accepting blame either. This was his. All of it. Zach was man enough to admit that. Regardless, there was another chunk of information he lacked. "Tell me about the apparently consensual financial submission."

Seth took a long drink, emptying the glass, and set it aside. He stared at it for a heartbeat before he glanced across the table and drilled Zach with a cool glance. "I was there to retrieve credit cards from her. Word was that she'd gained access to his bank accounts to his detriment. She refused to give them up. Said, 'Make me.'"

"You showed up to help my brother? Thank you." He gave a curt nod since he doubted Jeremy would have returned the favor. He'd always had an overweight sense of entitlement, which went well with his overweight belly.

"I showed up because she got mouthy with me. Jeremy's problems are his own."

"Ah." He didn't flinch from the brutal line in the sand. The accusation of sadism didn't sit well with him either.
Stay on common ground, Roberson.
"I can see that happening. She's spirited, no mistake."

"Aye," said Seth, who then resumed his story. "As I drove her from Jeremy's house, I asked again for the cards. She pulled them from the big-ass bag of hers and threw them at me. My job was done. I had the cards, but..." He hesitated, his eyes flickering over the adjoining tables before returning to Zach's. "There was no honor. The cards were in her name."

Zach's reality reeled. He remembered her protest. He remembered his mocking rejection. He remembered his determination to extract payment--for something she hadn't done? "He'd
ordered
bank cards for her?"

Seth waved away the waitress approaching with a pitcher of cola. "Speculation, of course, but probable."

A conclusion easily reached, Zach admitted. Furthermore, a conclusion that indicated he'd brutalized an innocent party in his misguided drive for payback. Damage like this, on the heels of what had happened six months ago-- unfairly happened six months ago?--would have significant consequences. PTSD-like consequences.

He couldn't walk away. "I need to fix this."

Seth pulled out his car keys. "Let's take a drive."

Annabel tossed the TV remote control to one side, supremely disgusted. It thumped against the box of tissues beside her knee, sending it to the floor. No matter. She'd cried enough. That is, unless the reality of her situation didn't intrude again on her thoughts.

Horrible! Horrible! Seven hundred channels and nothing for her to watch beyond cheesy talk shows and kids' programming. Oh, and sports. Like, yay for sports. She'd rather gouge out her eyes than watch a game of basketball.

Her channel surfing stopped on a program where a familiar actress carried on a monologue with her television audience. At least this show seemed capable of sustaining her interest with some blather about masterpieces of literature. Wasn't that chick doing commercials for some cruise ship line these days? Wait...the topic was
Wuthering Heights.

She grabbed the remote control and thumbed the channel change button with a vengeance. The last thing she needed was to watch some documentary about stupid romantic decisions.
Gawd!
She didn't need to be reminded about those. She was
living
those. In fact, it was a lifetime of living those.

A pair of cool gray eyes intruded into her thoughts. Zach's, of course. He was always on her mind these days, both for the good and bad.

He's so gorgeous, she reflected, with that heart-stopping smile and mouthwatering shoulders. He'd made her laugh and given her cause to think she'd finally been freed from her lifelong sentence of sorrow and pain. To top it off, he smelled good, too.

In fact, she'd clutched his T-shirt since she'd wakened. His scent filled the fabric. It had become her security blanket. His scent should have caused her panic, but for some ungodly reason, the shirt gave her comfort.
Just more proof I can't get things right
.

She blinked against the sudden pressure in her eyes and bit her lip. When would the tears end? She thought about getting another cup of peppermint tea. Maybe that would stop her tears. She pushed aside the blanket and his shirt in preparation for another trip to the kitchen.

A trip she never made. Instead, she tossed aside the remote again, tugged the blanket back over her knees, curled her arms around the shirt and flopped over onto her side before nestling back into her bed of blankets and pillows.

Maybe later she'd get tea.

It didn't matter what was on the TV.

Life sucked.

A knock on the door gave her a start. She jerked her head up from the tear-stained pillow. She knew her eyes had widened with wariness and shock. Somehow the person on the other side managed to fill the simple action of knuckles against wood with a sense of an imperial summons, as if the person knocking knew she was there and demanded a response.

She pushed aside the blankets and crossed the living room. Hopefully it wasn't a neighbor, or worse, the apartment management. JoBeth didn't have anyone else on her lease, so no one should be living with her.

Especially not me, Annabel thought.

Past mistakes had resulted in a criminal record, which ensured she'd never pass a housing background check. It would be two more years before she was welcomed on a lease of any type, which, of course, had forced her to make many of the choices she'd made over the past eight years.

A myriad of excuses ran though her mind as she approached the door. A broken pipe at my apartment and JoBeth offered her couch temporarily. I'm from Virginia and am checking out the local university 'cuz I'm thinking of transferring. A short vacation before back on a plane this coming Wednesday.

She looked through the peephole and gasped.
Zach! Are you kidding me?

"Go away," she shouted.

Her voice carried a humiliating shrillness. He, on the other hand, looked as cool and composed as usual. In fact, he stared back at her, eerily seeming able to see her through the peephole. Which was impossible, right?

"Annabel, we need to talk."

His voice carried that same commanding tone his knock had. It pushed against her defiance in an uncomfortable manner, but she managed an answer, and it wasn't compliance.

"Go away!" she repeated.

"Annabel"--he knocked again--"let me in."

She didn't move. Maybe if she ignored him he would go away.

Instead, he pounded harder. His voice rose in a shout. "Open the damned door. I know you're standing right there. I can see your fucking shadow."

She couldn't move. In the back of her mind, she heard a voice telling her to yank open the door and scorch him with a list of his character flaws, but she couldn't move. His voice. It moved across her skin like velvet. The words, freighted with command, froze her in place. She couldn't ignore him. She couldn't open the door. She couldn't move away.

She caught the frayed threads of her courage. "There's nothing for us to talk about. Now go away, Zach. Don't make me call--" Who? The cops? Security? She wasn't supposed to be in the apartment.

"Damn it," he said on a growl. "We're going to talk. Either we do it inside or I shout it through this door...your choice, but we
will
talk about what happened yesterday."

Had he no shame? "Don't you dare mention yesterday, Zachary Roberson."

"Okay, we'll do it through the fucking door--" But his voice cut off.