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“No,” I said, choking on the word. “He hasn’t promised me anything. He never promised me
anything.”
Milo touched my back, but I stiffened. It wasn’t that I didn’t want comfort, I just didn’t want it now. I didn’t want it here, and I didn’t want it from a man who’d scared me last week.
Rachel returned with my coat and I retreated to The Gallery’s black and gold bathroom to stare at myself in the mirror. My waterproof makeup couldn’t resist so many tears. I was a mess, both inside and out. I hid in a stall until Rachel came in after me, coaxing me out and down to Devin’s car. They both insisted on walking me to my door, and Devin offered to have Rachel stay with me all night.
Rachel turned out to be pretty nice. Devin turned out to be a decent human too, but I needed to be alone to heal from the huge wrong turns I’d taken lately. I should have canceled The Gallery. I never should have gone in the first place.
I should have had a few less drinks that night Fort found me outside Underworld, so he wouldn’t have noticed me at all.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Fort
Milo and Dev arrived just after one in the morning. I thought about refusing them entry, but the confrontation would come at some point, so why not now? I let them in, then went back to collapse on my couch. They took the chairs across from me, sitting up straight. This wasn’t going to be a relaxed conversation.
Devin took the first shot. “Are you ready to explain, you fucking asshole?”
Both of them glowered at me. They were still dressed from The Gallery, fresh from the scene of my crime. I wondered if they’d go back to finish their Saturday night fun after reaming me out.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Is Juliet all right?”
“She was taken care of, but I wouldn’t say she’s all right.” Milo’s voice was sharp as a razor. “You left her bound and impaled on a raised beam. She wasn’t in anyone’s care for several minutes.” His eyes darkened with incredulity. “You walked away and left her all alone.”
“Yeah, because I couldn’t stay with her. She was getting too weird and emotional. The way she looked at me…” I twisted my hands together. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t understand,” said Dev. “Nobody does. Dominants don’t do that to their subs, ever.” If Devin’s gaze was fire, it would have reduced me to ash. “Why did you leave her in the middle of The Gallery alone?”
I couldn’t explain the intensity of feeling that had sent me running, or the depth of despair that followed. I had no excuses, just my fucked up inability to give Juliet the connection she wanted. The connection she needed. I dropped my head and rubbed my eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.”
Dev came at me, shoving my head up. “You don’t know? Really? I was the one who had to clean up your selfish goddamn mess. I was the one who found Juliet looking around with that dazed, bereft expression, and I’m not going to forget it anytime soon. So fucking explain why you did it.”
I shoved his hand away. “You know why I did it.”
“Say it out loud, motherfucker. Because I’m not sure you know.”
Milo stepped between us. “This isn’t about Fort and his issues. It’s about Juliet.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” snapped Devin. “It’s one hundred percent about Fort and his issues.” He leaned toward me, his eyes narrowed. “What did she say? Something that touched you? Something that moved you? Did she tell you she was doing this for you, that she loved you?”
“It’s none of your fucking business.”
“You know how this works,” said Devin. “You knew the danger, you knew she was a bad idea from the beginning. And you know the fucking rules: never, ever fuck with the vulnerable.” He poked a finger into my chest. “And definitely don’t storm out of a sex dungeon while they’re bound, when they’re supposed to be in your care.”
He turned away on the word care, like he couldn’t even look at me. I understood. I hadn’t been able to look at myself either since I’d left. I couldn’t tell either of them the truth, that I had fallen hard for her, that I maybe already loved her to the point of terror. They thought this was everyday playboy relationship-avoidance bullshit.
I wished that was all it was.
I hadn’t ever felt this way about a woman, and no woman had ever loved me, I was sure of that. No woman had ever looked past the money and status to see the man, or try to understand him. No woman had ever kicked through my walls to the longing underneath, but Juliet had looked at me in that dungeon with startling emotion in her eyes, and the bricks started crumbling. She accepted my sadism and roughness, my childish self-protectiveness. She loved me anyway, her gaze encompassing her entire soul.
And I wasn’t enough for that soul, no matter how much I loved her.
I couldn’t explain any of this to my friends. In their eyes, I’d fucked up and acted like the asshole they knew me to be. I’d hurt the first woman who cared for me, the real me, destroyed her trust and abandoned her in the worst situation imaginable, when she couldn’t protect herself or walk away. I’d punished her because she made me feel something real, something deep and overwhelming.
It was hateful behavior. I didn’t deserve love.
I looked up as Devin slammed the door behind him. Milo was still there, his lips set in a thin line. “You’re out, Fort. Six months. Next offense is permanent.”
“I’m out of what?”
“Out of The Gallery. Don’t come back until you have your shit together. Six months is the minimum, but you might want to take a year.”
“A year? For one offense?” I needed The Gallery now. I needed to go there to numb the feelings Juliet had awakened in me, especially now that she was lost to me forever. “I’m a longstanding member of that place. One of the longest.”
“No fucking joke. That’s what makes it so sad. Get your head on straight, Fort.” He stood to leave, his face a disapproving mask. “We hurt women, but we don’t damage women. There’s a difference.” He went to the door, pausing just before he exited. “Good luck figuring things out.”
Chapter Twenty-Six: Juliet
I cried through a two-hour shower, questioning my life, stroking the sore marks on my thighs, berating myself, mourning the betrayal of my trust. Fort St. Clair was so good at turning on the charm, so good at dominance and seduction, but until tonight, I hadn’t realized how cruel he could be.
Not just cruel. Dangerous.
Well, I was done with his shit. I blocked him on my phone—for good this time. I took my Gallery uniform out of the bathroom trash where I’d stuffed it earlier, cut off the metal pieces, and fed the rest through my shredder. The machine’s rumble was satisfyingly harsh as it consumed the lace and fabric. I shredded the stockings next, determined to stick to my comfy over-the-knee socks from now on. I was left with the collar. Property of The Gallery.
Nope. From now on, I was the Property of No One. I cut up the collar and kept the lock to remind myself to keep my heart locked away from all men until, eh, maybe ten years from now. Maybe by then I’d be mature enough to choose the right kind of partner. I put the lock in the bottom of my jewelry box, then changed my mind and threaded it onto a thin black cord and hung it around my neck. I’d wear it every day under my clothes, a constant reminder of the consequences of my trusting, emotional stupidity.
By then it was almost five in the morning. I collapsed on my bed, then jumped to my feet as a knock sounded on my door. Holy shit. I couldn’t believe Fort would dare show his face. I clutched the lock in my fist, glad now that I’d decided to wear it. It would be my shield, my badge of courage to repel him.
I opened the door already worked into a fury, ready to unleash hell on the head of my tormentor. Goodluck blinked back at me, holding a large, fuzzy calico cat in his hands. “Are you busy?” he asked.
“No, but…” He moved past me, into my apartment. “I’m a little allergic to cats, boss.”
“Good, just a little? Maybe you can take some medicine or something. I think me and Mr. Snail Shell have to live with you for a while.”
Maybe it was my
rough night, or lack of sleep, but I couldn’t figure out what the hell he was talking about. Mr. Snail Shell leaped out of his arms and curled up on my sofa.
“Goodluck, I don’t really have room in my apartment for you and a cat.”
“I know, I know, I know.” He buried his face in his hands. “I know I’ve been so mean to you, Starcomet. I was angry. I love you and I want you to be happy, so I want us to stay friends, even if you have your weirdo thing with that psycho guy…” He waved a hand, dismissing all that. “You’ll always be my Starcomet. Also, there was a small fire.”
“What?”
“In my apartment. I put it out, but at the moment my place isn’t really habitable, especially for Mr. Snail Shell. You know, I was so into flames and candles, and the fire alarms kept going off, so I disabled them, but then last night I fell asleep in the golden glow of one of those flames and…”
“And what?” I gasped.
He turned around. The back of his long hair was much shorter now, and singed black at the edges.
I stared a moment, put my hands over my eyes, then took them off again. “Goodluck, is the fire out now?”
“Yes.”
“Right now, this moment, there’s definitely no fire or any candles burning in your apartment?”
“The fire’s out, but I think some of the furniture and carpet will have to be replaced. The smoke damage…” He spread his arms with a smile. “It’s good that I don’t develop prints in there anymore. You’re right, it’s best to have a studio. If those flammable chemicals had been in the apartment, Mr. Snail Shell and I would be stardust now, wafting toward the heavens.”
“Jesus Christ.” My horror knew no bounds. Goodluck and his cat would have been ashes, not stardust. “You can’t burn any more candles in your apartment,” I said. “Not unless you enable the fire alarms and install sprinklers. You could have died!”
