Shayla Black: Theirs to Cherish

“It doesn’t sound that bad,” Logan drawled.

“In retrospect, it wasn’t. At the time, I felt isolated. I worshipped my dad, but he’d been remote since my mother’s death. And my younger sister, Charlotte, had turned rebellious.”

“So when your boyfriend paid attention to you in order to get laid and get closer to your money, you thought he was the answer to your problems?”

“Pretty much.” And her stupidity still stung. “Anyway, the night my father and sister were killed, I was late for our family dinner. The second the meal ended, I told my dad that I had to finish studying for a test. I ran back upstairs to call Holden and give him the green light. At a little after ten, I pretended to go to bed like all was normal. I’d packed the night before and I was ready to leave. I grabbed my backpack and was shoving in a few last-minute items when I heard the first shot downstairs, in my father’s room. I thought I had to be mistaken or my sister had turned the TV up really loud. Who would be in our house shooting? I heard Charlotte head down the hall and for the stairs.” Callie clenched her fists. “She screamed suddenly. I heard another gunshot, this one much closer. She didn’t scream again. I peeked out the door to see if I could help her, but the blood . . .” Callie pressed her lips together. “She was only fourteen.”

Her throat closed up and tears threatened, but Logan squeezed her hand. “Go on.”

“I wanted to run to her, but the killer started charging down my hall. So I grabbed my pack and climbed out my window, down the big tree to the ground. I’d done it a thousand times.

“He shot me just before I made it to the ground. Flesh wound to my hip. It stung like a bitch, and I bled off and on for days, but I kept running for my life. Holden was waiting for me in his car one street over. I got in, sobbing. I called the police and told them everything. They immediately suspected me when I told them I’d fled the scene. They wanted me to come in for ‘questioning’ and swore I was just ‘a person of interest,’ but within an hour, the media had me labeled a suspect. I was too dazed and scared to face interrogation. The whole thing was a blur, and I had no witnesses who could say I hadn’t killed anyone. I didn’t want to face the fact that my family was gone. So I ran.”

“No one suspected Holden? After all, if your father died, you stood to inherit a lot of money.”

She shook her head. “He parked in front of an elderly couple’s house. They spied on the teen ‘vagrant’ slouched in his beat-up Mustang for twenty minutes because he was blasting Usher in their very white upper-crust neighborhood. They were sure they’d be horrifically murdered any second.”

Logan’s mouth flattened in a grim line. “Then?”

“Within an hour, we traded vehicles with a drunk guy in a bar’s parking lot, Holden’s car for his old truck. The guy was wasted enough to say yes. After that, we headed from Illinois to Indiana.”

Callie hadn’t told any of this to a single soul—ever. Hell, she’d barely let herself think about it in years. Just saying the words hurt like peeling off the layers of her skin one at a time until she was a bleeding, oozing mass. The worst part was, she could spill her guts, and Logan might not believe her. He could call the police because it was the right thing to do. They would take her to jail. And who knew what would happen then . . . except that it wouldn’t be good.

“Then a few days later, your boyfriend ratted you out?” he asked.

“Yeah. I was still bleeding, my hip infected. Holden heard about the reward for turning me in and he called.” And damn if she wasn’t still bitter about that. “When I stepped out of the shower for my shampoo and overheard him on the phone, I threw on my clothes, took the truck, and split.”

“Keep going,” Logan demanded.

“From there, I dashed to the next town over and paid cash for a little sedan. I had about thirty grand with me, money I’d taken from my father over a few months so Holden and I could start a new life. My dad never missed it.

“Since it was winter, I bolted south. Spent some time in Kentucky. When people there got suspicious, I adopted another name, colored my hair, and slipped over the border into Tennessee. Mississippi, Louisiana, Arkansas, Oklahoma . . . Any place I could find a rent-by-the week motel and a transient job, that’s where I went, at least until I thought someone might be onto me. Then I’d be gone again.”

“How did you find Thorpe?”

“I waited on some lifestylers while working at a twenty-four-hour diner shortly after I got to Dallas. Some were still in their fet garb at three a.m. when they walked in. I was curious, so I asked questions. They gave me answers. One of the unattached Doms invited me to go to Dominion with him. Out of curiosity, I said yes. He turned out to be a troll, and it didn’t take Thorpe long to throw him out, but I begged to stay. I’d finally found the perfect place to hide. A secretive community where no one expects to know your real name and no one is going to out you. I could dress different, change my hair, wear a lot of makeup, and no one would raise a brow. Not a soul who knew me as a child would ever admit to knowing what a fet club was, much less think to look for me there. Thorpe asked a lot of questions at first. I made up a lot of lies. After a while, as long as I did my job and promised to give him a heads-up if I planned to skip out so he could hire someone else, he left it alone.” She sighed, struggling to hold it all in. “Then came Sean.”

“Your Dom?”

The sting of tears lashed Callie. She blinked to hold them back. “Supposedly, yes. I’ve dodged assassins and bounty hunters before and always managed to get away. This one is a different breed. He’s determined enough to find me again. That’s why I need your help. The man who’s supposed to protect and care for me, who’s pleaded with me to trust him?” She shook her head. “He’s trying to kill me.”

Three days earlier

CALLIE trembled as she lay back on the padded table and Sean Kirkpatrick’s strong fingers wrapped around her cuffed wrist, guiding it back to the bindings above her head.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she murmured.

He paused, then drew in a breath as if he sought patience. “Breathe, lovely.”

That gentle, deep brogue of his native Scotland brought her peace. His voice both aroused and soothed her, and she tried to let those feelings wash through her.

“Can you do that for me?” he asked.

His fingers uncurled from her wrist, and he grazed the inside of her outstretched arm with his knuckles. As always, his touch was full of quiet strength. He made her ache. She shivered again, this time for an entirely different reason.

“I’ll try.”

Sean shook his head, his deep blue eyes seeming to see everything she tried to hide inside. That penetrating stare scared the hell out of her. What did he see when he looked at her? How much about the real her had he pieced together?

The thought made her panic. No one could know her secret. No one. She’d kept it from everyone, even Thorpe, during her four years at Dominion. She’d finally found a place where she felt safe, comfortable. Of course she’d have to give it up someday, probably soon. She always did. But please, not yet.

Deep breath. Don’t panic. Sean wants your submission, not your secrets.

“You’ll need to do better than try. You’ve been ‘trying’ for over six months,” he reminded her gently. “Do you think I’d truly hurt you?”

No. Sean didn’t seem to have a violent bone in his body. He wasn’t a sadist. He never gripped her harshly. He never even raised his voice. She’d jokingly thought of him as the sub whisperer because he pushed her boundaries with a gentleness she found both irresistible and insidious. Certainly, he’d dragged far more out of her than any other man had. Tirelessly, he’d worked to earn her trust. Callie felt terrible that she could never give it, not when doing so could be fatal.