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To her distress, she didn't reach the door in time to yank it open before the next shockingly loud peal of the bell split her aching brain in two. Moaning under her breath, Connie pulled it open and lifted an eyebrow at the bouncy young woman hopping around on the doorstep.
Penny was a beautiful young lady. Several inches shorter than barefoot Connie, almost a foot shorter when Connie wore these particular heels. The girl looked like someone had mated a pixie with a bunny; she had all the allure of a fairytale creature, with the boundless energy of the rabbit. A long tail of brown hair looped over her shoulder and down the front of her padded jacket.
Behind wire-rimmed glasses, big brown eyes danced excitedly, brightening when they saw Connie. “Hi, Doctor Monroe!”
“Hey, Penny, thanks for coming over.” She stepped aside to let her pass, lifting an eyebrow as Penny skipped inside with her armful of books and began stripping out of her jacket. “Planning on hitting the books tonight?”
“Absolutely! My professor has set a killer history test on Monday, so I've got some serious studying to do. But I promised Lisha we'd spend an hour on her reading and writing lessons before I get down to the boring stuff.” The jacket went flying, as did the boots. “Oh man, is she still on her Disturbedkick? Don't worry, I'll snap her out of it. Enjoy your class!”
Reading and writing lessons? What the hell?Connie watched Penny skip off again down the hall and tried to wrap her head around the fact Alicia didn't know how to read or write—the basics, for God's sake. How had she not known that? Abraham and Diane, Bodie and Alicia's parents, hadn't bothered to take care of their children, but Bodie had attended school with Liam. Surely, Alicia had some form of education?
With her head pounding like a kettledrum, Connie made a mental note to ask Liam about it. Bodie was in too fragile a state to be put under any kind of strain right now, and Connie knew her sister was a huge concern for the pregnant sub.
Shrugging into her jacket, Connie slipped her phone into the pocket and pulled out her keys. She was going to be late for the unnecessary intervention, but she couldn't summon enough of a good damn to care. The music switched off as she closed the door behind her, much to her relief. The longer Alicia went without those goddamn lyrics spinning inside her head, the better.
The drive seemed to take forever. Between the pain, concentrating on where she was going, and trying to sort out the mess in her head, she was surprised she made it to Avalon without running off the goddamn road. As she pulled into the parking lot almost fifteen minutes late, she frowned at the empty spots. The only vehicles besides hers were Braun's, Atticus's, and Liam's.
No Loki, no Jasper.
She slammed out of her car, regretting it as soon as the door banged shut. Pain seized her forehead, worked over her scalp, down into her neck and shoulders. She should have stayed at home, had a long soak in a hot bath, and gone to bed. That'swhat she should have done, instead of standing in the parking lot wondering if Liam had been pulling her goddamn leg.
Fuming, she strode over to the porch and climbed the steps. When she stepped through the doors, there was no one manning the security desk, and she couldn't hear anything from beyond the pair of swinging doors leading into the club proper. The hairs on her neck rose, and her steps were more hesitant as she pushed through into the bar and social area.
No Liam behind the bar, she noted, which wasn't unusual. He could be unlocking the barns, checking the equipment, playing with his new condoms and lube. What was strange was the lack of people—at eight o'clock on a Friday night, the club normally had at least half a dozen people already getting ready to play.
Instead, there was only Atticus, waiting in the middle of the floor with his arms crossed over his barrel of a chest.
Suddenly, uncharacteristically nervous, Connie stopped where she was and looked around, waiting for the nasty surprise she was one hundred percent sure was heading her way. “Where is everyone? Liam said everyone was coming to rain on Jasper's parade.”
Moss-green eyes, dark and concerned, met hers. Atticus was a beautiful man, inside and out—although he'd probably disagree with both. Muscles strained the black silk shirt he wore, and the well-faded blue jeans hugging his thighs. “Come sit down, Con. We need to talk.”
Oh fuck, she thought in disgust. This was an intervention, only it wasn't for the lovestruck sadist and his sassy sub. It was for her. “I'm going to kill that pretty blond bastard,” she muttered, thinking of how she could make Liam squeal like a stuck pig. “Go to hell, Att. I am not in the mood for this tonight. I don't feel well and I'm going home. Tell that lying prick he better not come within my sight for the foreseeable future.”
She turned to leave, but was brought up short by the crack of her name in Atticus's dominant voice.
“That lying prick is worried about you. We all are. The others would have been here for this, but I figured you'd want to do this in private. So, it's just me and you, and between us, we're going to try something different.” He unfolded his arms and moved toward her, not stopping when she held her hand up. “That's not going to change anything, sweetheart. You're barely treading water, and if we don't do something about it, there'll be a point where you sink and can't come up for air again.”
“I'm not doing this.”
He wrapped his huge hand around her small one, tugging her forward. “We both know I can have you on your knees with a word, Connie. One word and you will submit, because that's part of who you are, isn't it? Shush,” he crooned when she whimpered reflexively and tried to yank her hand free. “Tell me your secret, Connie. It's safe with me.”
Pain screamed behind her eyes, driven by the erratic surge of her pulse. She was just angry, she told herself. Angry at being set up by her friends, lied to by someone she trusted. More shit piled on top of the rest she was already struggling to cope with. “What did you do, Atticus?”
“Pulled a few strings. Asked Liam to keep the club closed for an extra hour while we get this argument out of the way. Nothing too extravagant.” His mouth thinned in the thicket of his neatly trimmed black beard. He'd earned a few silver hairs there, and scattered along his temples. “As far as secrets go, it's not the worst I've kept close to my chest. Just say the words; we can move forward from there.”
Connie squeezed her eyes shut. “I'm not doing this. I can't.”
The big brute she'd considered a friend up until five minutes ago pressed a hand to her back, guiding her over the floor. As always, he was so fucking gentle, but this time, it made her want to cry. She kept her eyes closed, hoping this was all some kind of hallucination caused by too little sleep and far too much stress. “There's no one here. No ears listening to what they shouldn't. There's nothing to be ashamed of.”
How many times had she said those words to someone else? Coaxed a reluctant patient into divulging the root of their pain so that she could help fix it? Too many to count. It was probably one of her most frequently used phrases. Shame was a huge motivation to keep a secret locked away. “I'm not ashamed of who I am, Atticus. I'm just not that person anymore.”
“Of course you are. Hiding pieces of yourself doesn't mean they don't still exist.” Atticus stopped her and, to her shock, scooped her up as though she weighed nothing. She felt him step down, down, down, and knew they were in the seating pit. When he sat and kept her cradled on his lap, she felt herself waver. “Should I tell you what I've noticed about you over the last three months, sweetheart?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Tough. At a guess, you've lost nearly thirty pounds. You're quiet, you're emotional, and there are bags under your eyes a hobo could sleep in. I can't remember the last time you took a sub for the night, which means you're not getting what you need as a Domme…or as a submissive.”
Her throat snapped tight. He'd thrown it out there, but she could deny it. Woulddeny it as soon as she could control her vocal cords. The Domme in her was outraged at being held, at being cuddled, at having control wrenched out of her grasp. But the submissive she'd neglected for so long…she was in her element, yet frustrated at being held back from snuggling into the safety of his arms.
