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“What about the nightmares?” Erica asked, thinking about her severe anxiety. She’d screamed because it had bubbled up from her subconscious, ruining what had been a perfect evening with Dylan and Cam at Lover’s Beach.
“There’s fewer of them, but I’m not sure they ever go away for good. I pray they will someday for you and me.”
Like her, Kelly had been changed after her abduction. As they talked more, Erica recalled what Dylan had said at the motel room about taking her to Phase Four. Could she go there after everything that had happened? The guys had spanked her the night before on Lover’s Beach. That hadn’t been a problem for her. But the shirt coming over her head had sent her into a total panic. Could she submit totally, allow them to tie her down or blindfold her? Would that bring back the nightmares? She knew her guys were Doms through and through. Eventually she would need to try BDSM again. But she needed at least a few more days to get her head on straight.
But what if I’m not like Kelly? What if I stay screwed up like this for the rest of my life? What if I can’t return to BDSM, the lifestyle of Cam and Dylan?
Kelly spun her around to face the mirror. “Will this work for you? I think your guys are going to love it.”
Erica looked at her long dark hair. Kelly had shaped it perfectly, allowing it to fall just the way she liked it. “Thank you for the hair and for the talk. I needed both.”
“I needed it as well, Erica. It’s good to talk to someone who has been through what I’ve been through.” Kelly leaned close and lowered her voice. “The one thing that has gotten me through some of my darkest points is to appreciate every single day. You can always find happiness if you know where to look.”
“Sounds like you might be in love.”
Kelly shook her head. “No, but you definitely are.”
Yes, I am. Whenever she looked into Cam’s and Dylan’s faces, she found her happiness. Somehow she was going to get past her hesitation about BDSM and be the woman they deserved.
Chapter Fifteen
Dylan stepped onto the porch of the house on Second Street that Mitrofanov had purchased two days ago.
Jason was beside him. He knocked on the door hard. “Open up. This is Sheriff Wolfe.”
It was time to get the rat out of his hometown and behind bars where he belonged. Ethel had signed the warrant and he and Jason had headed straight to this house to get the bastard.
Another hard knock by Jason shook the entire porch. “Get your ass out here, Niklaus. Now!” The sheriff’s other hand was on his weapon.
Holding his own weapon, Dylan heard footsteps inside headed to the door. Give me a reason, motherfucker. Any reason. His heart was beating at the rate it always did before a kill. Steady. Very steady.
The door opened. It wasn’t Niklaus. Too young.
“Where’s your uncle?” Jason asked, apparently having met the guy. He had tats on his neck, a symbol of his mafia ties.
“He’s not taking visitors now, Sheriff.”
“This isn’t a social call.” Dylan pushed the man out of the way. As he walked past him, he reached into the punks jacket and freed him of his pistol. “Be smart. If you want to keep breathing, don’t pull the knife that’s strapped to your ankle.”
The guy’s eyes widened in surprise, and he stepped back.
He and Jason had their guns out. One reason. That’s all.
From a hallway, a short balding man, obviously Mitofanov, walked into the front room where they were standing. Behind him came another man, who looked to be the twin of the other.
“Sheriff Wolfe, what a pleasure to see you again so soon,” the fucker said with a twisted smile.
“Hands up,” Jason ordered. “Everyone.”
Two more men appeared from where Niklaus and his henchman had come. They both wore suits, and Dylan recognized something in their eyes. They were killers—like him.
The odds weren’t the best—five to two—but he’d seen worse and walked out alive.
One wrong move by any of them and he would take them out. Jason’s gun was pointed at Niklaus. That took care of one target. The other four were his. The two assassins had to go down first. Then the neck-tatted thug that still had a gun would be next. The guy by the door with only a knife would be last. That would take less than two seconds, maybe three. Then he would empty the remaining two bullets into Niklaus, just in case Jason’s shot wasn’t a kill shot. The assessment of the situation and what had to be done took him less time than it took to take in a breath. It was like riding a bike.
Niklaus put his hands in the air. The other men did the same.
Damn.
