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“Sadly, not really. I’ve learned a few basic phrases, that’s all.” Dante handed his key to Moses with a smile.
CHAPTER 5
Leaving Moses to tend to the car, Dante’s heartbeat quickened as he surveyed the contours of Rawhide Ranch. The facade showcased an elegant blend, where ornate, wrought-iron balconies jutted out from weathered wooden walls. He found himself momentarily captivated by the juxtaposition of the resort’s grandeur with its rustic undertones. With every step on the gravel pathway, he felt the rich history of the place beneath his feet.
A flicker of surprise entered his thoughts. In his mind, a retreat for those in the lifestyle might be draped in overt symbols of its clandestine nature. But here? It was almost... deceptively ordinary. The manicured lawns, the horses grazing peacefully in the distance, it all felt so... serene.
Erika waited patiently for him to take it all in, relaxed but confident. The sun caught the highlights in her dark hair, and her eyes danced with genuine warmth. Her presence, so kind and inviting, was like an anchor in this unfamiliar terrain. Dante felt an involuntary smile tugging at his lips. The earlier apprehension was replaced by a burgeoning trust. She didn’t just represent the Ranch; in that moment, she embodied its unexpected allure.
Moses’ footsteps crunched over the gravel as he distanced himself from their small group.
Suddenly, Dante’s attention was jerked from Erika when unsettling sounds echoed. The harsh slap of flesh meeting flesh, paired with a woman’s startled cry, and a contrasting low man’s grumble, prickled Dante’s ears. He instinctively sought out the source. His eyes narrowed then widened when they locked on the flash of movement. It took him a second to discern that what he was seeing wasn’t some type of banner that had torn loose from its mooring, but instead was a pair of legs… or rather leggings. Who needed a banner celebrating St. Patrick’s Day when they were actually wearing one? Bright gold leggings adorned with nearly fluorescent shamrocks were waving in the air from around the corner of the porch. The way the pair of neon green boots were churning, one would think the owner was attempting to ride a bicycle. That illusion was quickly abandoned when another distinctive slap was heard and those little legs curled upward in a likely attempt of covering up a vulnerable backside. Poor thing. He was a bit chilly standing in the sun. He could imagine how cold the culprit must be with her butt exposed. And by the way those leggings appeared to be slipping down toward her ankles, he would bet his next retainer her backside was definitely bare. Then again, with every slap of the man’s hand, he’d be warming her quite nicely. Sure there was no chance of the miscreant catching pneumonia, he bit back a grin before turning back to the woman beside him.
He registered only the faintest twitch of her eyebrows as if she’d heard such sounds a thousand times before. She probably had.
She briefly turned her head in the direction of the noise and then back to Dante, her lips turning up in a soft smile. “Master Derek appears to be... um, occupied at the moment,” she offered. “Normally, he and his wife, Sadie, like to greet our new arrivals, but that will have to wait. However, you don’t need to worry, we’ll do our best to get you settled in.”
Dante couldn’t help but set his grin free. It seemed his earlier thoughts were proving true. Rawhide was definitely living up to his expectations. He was about to share his thought with Erika when he saw Moses brushing his fingers over the key fob for the Tesla. With a soft click, the back wing door began its mechanical ascent.
Dante’s eyebrows knit together, and he started, “Oh, that’s the wrong–” but his words dissolved into the thick tension of the moment.
Moses froze, a choked sound escaping his lips, something between a mumble and a gasp. His fingers began to dance in the air, quick and frantic. Dante recognized one sign—the man placed the thumb of his open hand against his cheek, then traced it down to his chin, the unmistakable ASL sign for “woman”. However, the subsequent flurry of hands, and the whirlwind of signs that followed, were too fast and intricate for Dante’s limited knowledge to decipher.
Time seemed to stretch. Erika’s complexion turned ashen, her eyes mirroring a deep-rooted concern. After shooting Dante a look that definitely lacked the warmth of friendship, she turned her attention back to Moses. Rapidly, her fingers flew and then swiftly formed fists, stacked atop one another, moving down and out. As she signed, her eyebrows arched sharply upward, a silent cue that she asked him a question. Before Dante could piece it all together, Erika was already in motion, lunging toward the car with a fervency that matched Moses’, both of them diving into the backseat.
Dante’s thoughts tangled in a web of disarray. He was certain the backseat had been empty. The word “woman” flashed in his mind, echoing the man’s urgent signs. Erika’s swift, horrified response, and Moses’ desperate motions hinted at looming trouble. Amusement at the spanking instantly evaporated as a cold dread settled in his chest, tightening around his heart like a vise. What had he missed?
Before he could process the whirlwind of questions and emotions, Dante’s feet pounded against the ground. Urgency propelled him toward the Tesla in Erika’s wake.
He came to a skidded stop at the sight of an unmoving and clearly injured, young woman slumped on the floor of his car. “What the...” His voice trailed off, the words lodged in his throat, as his eyes locked onto the sight.
Erika whirled to face him, her gaze icy and demanding. “Explain, Sir.”
The tranquility that once enveloped Dante upon his arrival at the Ranch seemed to dissolve, replaced by the stark tension emanating from the unsettling scene within his car.
The other man lunged, fingers poised to grasp the injured woman. “Wait!” Dante’s voice cracked, sharp and urgent, his arm shooting out instinctively to restrain Moses. But the sheer surprise of being stopped mid-action coaxed a look of such derision as a low guttural growl sliced through the stillness of the Ranch like a knife.
Frustration bubbled up inside Dante, stoked by the barriers of communication between him and the other man. As Moses looked at him with unbridled accusation, Dante quickly formed the ASL sign for “Stop”, his hand pushing out in front of him in a clear halt motion. “Don’t!” he added verbally, eyes wide, heart hammering against his chest. He wished he could bridge the gap between them, explain the risk, and make Moses understand that while the woman might be uncomfortably positioned, moving her recklessly could cause irreversible harm.
Before Dante could fully process the moment, a shadow fell over them—a tall, imposing figure cutting a stark silhouette against the bright sky and the glaring sun. The man’s approach felt almost surreal, every sound magnified, from the gravel crunching beneath his boots to the muted chirping of distant birds. The world seemed to decelerate, each second stretching, elongating as the gravity of the situation bore down on Dante.
“What’s going on here?” The voice, coming from the imposing man in jeans, cowboy boots, a pristine white button-down shirt, and a bolo tie, boomed with an authority that seemed to echo in the expanse of the Ranch.
“Master Derek. Sir. I... he... we…” Erika’s voice trembled, each word an incomplete thought as she stood with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression on her face.
The owner of those shamrock-covered legs stood beside her, her cries silenced by the tension in the air as she took in the scene.
The weight of the situation pressed in on Dante, making the air feel thick, almost suffocating. A flicker in Erika’s eye made him wonder, for a split second, if she might crumple at Derek’s feet in submission. This man had to be the renowned Master Derek, the heart and soul of the Ranch.
Ignoring him, Derek turned his attention to Moses. Listening to Derek ask questions verbally while Moses signed in response, let Dante understand the huge man didn’t need ASL to communicate. With Moses shooting the occasional look in his direction, Dante was wishing he could convince the man he had no clue how this woman had gotten into his car. He couldn’t believe Leonora hadn’t noticed her when she’d put bags in the car, but considering the doors hadn’t opened completely and Leonora had basically tossed the bags onto the backseat, perhaps it wasn’t too much of a stretch. There had been no need to even open the doors when they’d arrived back at her place. She’d simply reached over and grabbed the bags’ handles and hauled them over into the front seat before she’d climbed out of the car. Hell, she hadn’t even waited for him to follow with the first load of her suitcases before stomping to her door. By the time he’d reached the threshold, she wasn’t in sight. He’d deposited all the luggage in her foyer, called out his goodbye, and managed to close the door without slamming it before returning to his car.
A hard swallow moved down Dante’s throat, a futile attempt to quench the dryness there. He tried to anchor himself, drawing a slow, deep breath that did little to quell the rapid pounding in his chest. Pushing Leonora out of his head, he looked again at the small woman on the floor. The poor thing hadn’t made a single sound on the drive to Rawhide and was curled in on herself as if attempting to take up the very minimum of space she could.
“Sir, I have no idea who the woman in my car is.”
Derek’s gaze, sharp and piercing, bore into him—as if Dante were a defendant under the scrutiny of a relentless judge. The intensity of the stare was tangible, almost a physical weight. Yet, Dante met his eyes and raised his chin just enough to show strength, refusing to be cowed.
“Master Dante, I presume?” Derek’s voice was cool, and his gaze assessing.
