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“Yeah, but what if I don’t hear them? I was not myself, you know. Never felt like this before.”
“I don’t think you’d ever not hear me safeword.”
“But what if I didn’t? How would you prevent me from hurting you?”
The man needed a demonstration? That could be arranged. With a swift, fluid motion perfected from countless hours on the mat, Caleb slipped his arms and legs around Roman and held him in a headlock, just tight enough for Roman to feel the strength he possessed without actually cutting off air.
“That’s how. Don’t mistake submissiveness for weakness.”
He released Roman as quickly as he’d secured him. Roman’s expression shifted from surprise to a dawning realization, a mix of respect and, perhaps, a thrill at being momentarily overpowered by someone he’d just dominated so thoroughly.
“All right.” A reluctant grin tugged at the corners of Roman’s mouth, the residual tension bleeding away. “Point taken.”
Caleb settled beside Roman so their bodies were still close in the charged air between them. The gritty reality of what they’d shared didn’t come with promises and definitely not with guarantees, but it was raw and real, and for Caleb, that was enough. For now.
11
He’d never thought of sex as a stress reliever, but Roman couldn’t deny he felt a thousand times better than he had the day before his… What was he supposed to call it, what he’d shared with Caleb? A scene? But had it been one when Roman had been flying by the seat of his pants? To him, a scene indicated something more planned, something with a defined purpose, perhaps.
Then again, they’d had a clear goal in mind: a spanking and sex, with stress relief and relaxation as the ultimate prize. They’d even discussed it beforehand and everything, so maybe it did count as a scene? Jesus, leave it to him to overthink everything, including the label for what they’d done.
Maybe he should try to stop defining everything and learn to go with the flow a bit more like Wander did. Yeah, fat chance of that happening. He could aspire to be more relaxed, but that wasn’t ever going to happen. He’d been born a control freak, and he’d die one too.
But for now, he could make himself think of what they’d done as a scene, since that certainly seemed to fit, and revel in the fact that it had helped him release a lot of his emotions. And that was surprising. He’d always tried the standard advice like meditating, taking a hot bath, going to the gym. Hell, he’d even tried running at some point, but that had only made him more miserable. None of that had ever worked as well. Interesting.
Wander’s team had gathered again for the next round of updates on the case, and while Roman feared what was coming and mentally braced himself for more disappointments, his stress level was nowhere near what it had been the day before. Progress. Thanks to Caleb.
“Let’s get started, yeah?” Wander said. Roman leaned in, just like the team members, their faces focused, their attention homed in on his brother. The air was thick with tension, a palpable determination to protect him at all costs, and gratitude filled his heart. These men hadn’t known him, but they had his back.
“Roman, can you share with us how your investigation into Whitman started?” Wander asked.
Even a few days prior, Roman would’ve hesitated out of concern for remaining professional and not spilling the secrets of his job. But now that he knew how far Whitman had gone to come after him, he discarded those restrictions. He was fighting for his safety, maybe even for his life, and none of those considerations mattered anymore. Plus, unlike a criminal attorney, he didn’t have attorney-client privilege and could legally speak freely about what he had discovered. It was more a matter of whether it was wise from a legal strategy standpoint than whether it would violate the law.
“It started with a hunch.” Roman scratched the uncharacteristic stubble shadowing his jawline. He hadn’t felt like shaving that morning. “Whitman’s name popped up too often in whispers in the courthouse hallways, hushed talk between politicians in the bars and restaurants where power brokers drink away their scruples.”
His thoughts raced back to the first thread he’d pulled—a case that should’ve been straightforward but had reeked of meddling. “I was still an assistant DA, involved in a minor case of a construction company violating safety regulations. The defendant was making a phone call in the bathroom, and I accidentally walked in on him. I’m not sure who he was talking to, but he said the senator had him by the balls and forced him to confess. He said Whitman had promised to take care of him if he took the fall for this one, but that if he didn’t, he’d never get another job in Massachusetts again.”
“Blackmail,” Ryan spat out.
“Exactly.” Roman nodded sharply. “And it wasn’t mere talk or unsubstantiated rumors. We went through the financials of the construction company and found a trail leading to Whitman’s office. The guy had paid him to get the contract for building a new prison, but I couldn’t prove it. So we dug a little deeper. Whitman got kickbacks from everyone and their mother in exchange for sweet state contracts, blocking or supporting certain state or federal laws, subsidies for certain industries, you name it. Money was flowing into his various shell companies like a goddamn river.”
“Got an example?” Ryan asked.
“Take the Harborfront redevelopment—millions in taxpayer dollars.” Roman slapped the table for emphasis. “The contract was supposed to go to the lowest bidder. But guess who landed the deal? A firm paying into a Whitman-controlled slush fund. The real low bidder got threats instead, the kind of serious warnings that made him pack up his business and leave town altogether.”
“Son of a bitch,” Wander said, his brows tightly furrowed.
“Every move he makes, someone gets screwed while he comes out smelling like roses. And when people push back, they get hit with compromising photos or allegations of misconduct. Careers are ruined at the flick of Whitman’s wrist. That’s why it took forever to build this case. No one was willing to talk. They all feared his retribution, and with reason.”
The familiar burn of anger coiled tight in his gut. This was personal, not just because of the threat to his safety but because Whitman’s corruption was a rot eating at the city Roman loved.
“We’ve done a little digging too over the last few days.” Ryan rose from his chair and held up Whitman’s senatorial picture—all teeth as he posed next to an American flag. Even the sight of him set Roman on edge. “And so far, what we’ve uncovered confirms he’s as dirty as they come. His ambition is ruthless, cutthroat. He’s a puppet master, controlling a myriad of strings, half of which we probably can’t even see.”
“Oh, I’m certain of it,” Roman said. “I’ve been working on this case for six months, and I’m confident I haven’t uncovered half of what he’s involved in.”
“What have you found out about Isabella Coldrick, Whitman’s lawyer?” Ryan asked.
Roman let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I’ve had my eye on her as well. She’s as smart and ambitious as her client, and she knows the law inside and out. My gut says she’s involved or maybe even the linchpin.”
