Tymber Dalton - Cardinal's Rule

Gave him money so he could build his life without me. Treated him equitably.”

Her gaze fell upon slave, who still crouched on the floor behind her coffee table. His brown hair. The tattoo she’d seen on his ass at the club the other night.

No!

“When I asked him why he returned to me,” Landry continued, “he told me he wanted to take care of me, didn’t want me to be alone. Still loved me. Yes, we thought there was a better than good chance I might die, but he took it upon himself to leave another to come back to me. He lied to me when he told me he was single. Well, not technically lied, because I lay unconscious in the ICU for nearly two weeks and he’d been there most of that time. Except when he made a trip back home to take care of business. So when he told me he was single it was mostly true because by then he’d severed ties with her.”

She stood. “I don’t want to hear this.” She heard the tremor in her voice.

“You have to. I want slave to face the consequences of his actions.”

“No, really. I don’t want to hear any more.”

Undeterred, he continued. “I told him he had no right to make the decision for myself or the one he left. To not tell either about the other. His rationale, while well-intentioned, was of course seriously flawed. He thought he knew what was best, just as I thought I knew what was best all those years ago when I insisted on a lifestyle he couldn’t live with.”

She shook her head. “We’re done here, Mr. LaCroux. I’ve changed my mind, and I’m not going to do this. I want you both to leave. Right now.” She didn’t want to see slave’s face. If she never saw his face, it meant it didn’t happen. With trembling fingers, she dug the envelope out of her back pocket and tossed it on the coffee table. “I don’t want your money. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”

“Please,” he said. “I need to make amends.”

She angrily jabbed a finger at him. “I don’t know what kind of mindfuck you’re into, but I’m not playing into it!”

He stepped forward, until he stood in front of her. “I feel responsible. Because I should have questioned him further. I should not have turned a blind eye. Because of my shortcomings as his Master the first time around, apparently I failed to instill in him the ethic that a Master never abandons a slave, especially without explanation. Ever .”

Her knees gave out and she heavily sat in the chair as Landry stood there. He leaned in, his face inches from hers. “I told you about my cancer returning,” he said, barely more than a whisper, so softly she knew slave couldn’t hear him.

“I have a business proposition for you, Mistress Cardinal. I am worth a helluva lot of money. I have no wife or children. If you will marry me, and stay married to me for at least three years, I will pay you two hundred thousand dollars for every year you stay with me for those three years. If I die before then, you get everything I own, including my business. If you wish to stay married longer we will, and I will at that point sign over everything to you.

“Please consider my offer. I owe you more than I can ever repay you, for more than one reason.

I need to start that restitution now. I will be back for slave at the end of the hour. Be vicious. Take your pound of flesh and then some, literally. He will take whatever you dish out.”

With that he turned and walked out the front door.

Leaving the money on her table and slave kneeling on the floor.

She’d never fainted in her life, but she felt close to it. She leaned forward and put her head between her knees and took deep breaths like she’d learned in nursing school. When she realized she gasped for air, she knew she was close to hyperventilating and tried to slow her breathing.

Fuck!

After what felt like forever, she sat up and looked at the man kneeling on her floor. Her feet felt numb, her legs shaky as she stood and slowly walked around the coffee table.

He didn’t look up, didn’t move.

She stood over him, her breath ragged. “Look at me, goddammit,” she finally said.

He slowly tilted his face, familiar brown eyes staring into hers.

Over the years she had imagined many things. At first, that if he ever darkened her door again she would take him back even though she’d been hurt and pissed. As the months, followed by years, rolled by, that fantasy changed. She imagined running into him and spitting in his face. Laughing at him. Pretending she didn’t recognize him. Acting friendly but cool, as if his leaving hadn’t ripped her sanity from her soul.

Prayed he’d grow ugly and fat and bald.

He still looked like her Cris, although his brown hair was much longer, down to his shoulders.

He’d always kept it short and neatly styled when they were together.

Her handsome Master was Landry’s slave.

She stared for long, countless minutes as blood throbbed through her temples, her pulse pounding.

Then she turned on her heel, walked to her bedroom, and slammed the door behind her. After a second, she locked it.

She screamed.

After ten minutes her body shook and her throat felt raw and hoarse. She snatched a riding crop from her closet. When she almost tripped on her heels, she ripped her boots off and then unlocked her door and threw it open so hard it bounced off the bedroom wall.

Landry’s slave still knelt on the floor, where she’d left him.

Barefoot, she ran over to him and with ragged, wordless screams, she began beating his shoulders, his back.

He never cried out, never moved, made no effort to protect himself.

After five minutes she stood there, staring at him as her chest heaved. It felt like she couldn’t breathe. She felt like she was choking, then she realized she was crying again. She dropped the riding crop.

“You fucking son of a bitch!” She circled the living room and came up behind him, kicked him in the ribs. As large as he was, it probably didn’t hurt him nearly as much as it hurt the fuck out of her toes. She dropped to her knees next to him and beat her fists against his back, screaming, raging.

“Why? Why did you leave me? Why wasn’t I good enough for you? Why did you break your promise to protect me!”

Beyond sanity, she knew she still sobbed but she felt drained, weak. He’d never moved even though he breathed heavily.

She shoved him as hard as she could and he rolled onto his side. He wouldn’t look at her.

“You fucking asshole!” she sobbed. “Why won’t you fucking say anything! What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“That’s not good enough!” When she lost her balance and fell back onto her ass she kicked at him, caught him in the thigh. “That’s not fucking good enough, you bastard!” She kicked him again, recognizing it probably didn’t hurt him in the slightest.

She fell back onto the carpet and sobbed, screamed, cried, tried to hold on to her sanity.

He didn’t move.

“You fucking asshole,” she raggedly gasped as she rolled over and pressed her face to the carpet. This couldn’t be happening. This had to be a really bad nightmare.

After she caught her breath she sat up. He lay where he’d fallen when she shoved him. She started pounding on him again with her fists. “I want him back!” she screamed. “I want my fucking Master back! You took him from me and I want him!” She fell back again, panting for breath. “Sit up!”

she screamed. “Fucking face me like a man!”

He rolled onto his knees. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Another wordless, strangled cry broke free as she launched herself at him. She tried to claw his eyes. This time he did react. He caught her arms and spun her around, pinned her to him, her back against his chest and her wrists caught in his as he held his arms crossed around her.