attentive, however. Rather
than fishing through the
lost-and-found, he brought her a
clean T-shirt from his own
locker and a washcloth to use in the
bathroom. Once there,
she took one look at her face in the
mirror under the harsh
lighting—blood on her mouth, tear
tracks, smeared
mascara. Al of it accentuated the
crow’s feet at her eyes
and stress lines around her taut
mouth. She didn’t look
again, except to steal quick glances to
ensure she’d wiped
al of it away that she could.
She’d been so rattled she’d left her
purse at Leland
Kel er’s desk, but it didn’t matter.
Any touch-up would look
like clown makeup. Milo apparently
had a hand the size of a
tennis racket, for her cheek, eye and
lip on the right side
were swel ing. The blouse had been
stained with blood
from the split lip.
The cotton T-shirt fel to her knees,
almost hiding the rip
in her slacks. Because one of her
heels had broken in the
parking lot and the other had been left
behind, they’d also
given her a pair of sneakers from the
lost-and-found that
were only about one size too big. She
stuffed the broken
shoe in the trash along with the
blouse and came back out,
fol owing an officer’s direction to
Sergeant Kel er’s area.
He rose at the sight of her, gestured
her to his guest
chair. “You look better. Hot
compresses and a good bath
should help, a few aspirin.” He
touched her face, tilting it
away from him, and his jaw
hardened. The way he touched
her, so easy and confident, made her
go stil . Desperately,
she told herself it was a police thing,
the female perception
of safety, protection. Believing
anything else meant that she
was going to have to tear out her
mind, because it seemed
the only way to stop it from going
down this path over and
over again.
While she believed in Fate, karma
and the forces that
drove destiny, she couldn’t possibly
believe that suddenly
Doms were everywhere, like a damn
convention was in
town. She’d gone years without
meeting a single one
outside of the Internet, after al . It
was far more likely she
was starting to hal ucinate, like a
crack addict snorting up
everything from salt to talcum
powder, or ground glass.
He released her at last, gave her a
nod. “Yeah, you’l be
al right. That would be Milo’s
handiwork there. They’re a
hardcore pain club, miss. They dish it
out without causing
ER visits or police reports, mostly,
but they sure as hel
don’t observe enough of the rules for
the things they do. It
results in what you experienced
tonight, among other
things. I know you were pretty upset
when I found you. Were
you checking out the club…or were
you lost and seeking
directions?”
He asked it with a careful y straight
face, giving her the
out for her dignity, but she thought
lying to a cop would be
far more humiliating. “I was checking
it out. I thought…” As
her voice quavered, he pushed a hot
cup of coffee into her
hands. She clasped the warmth to her,
inhaling the familiar
scent of coffee beans. Something
normal. “I made a
mistake, is al .”
“That’s as may be, but a mistake
shouldn’t lead to this.”
He gestured to her face and general
state. “I wasn’t just
trying to spook Cyrus, miss. You
have every right to file
assault charges. They didn’t ask you
for your consent, did
they? Didn’t have you sign anything
coming in the door or
go over any safety restrictions, health
issues?”
She shook her head. “He asked for
twenty dol ars. I gave
it to him. I guess a court would say
that was consent. It
doesn’t matter anyway. The fact I
sought out a club like that
would tel a judge or jury everything
they’d want to hear. I’m
not stupid, despite the fact I did
something very stupid
tonight.”
“Now, miss—”
“I overheard two of the female police
officers talking
about me when I went into the
bathroom.” She made herself
say it aloud. She
than fishing through the
lost-and-found, he brought her a
clean T-shirt from his own
locker and a washcloth to use in the
bathroom. Once there,
she took one look at her face in the
mirror under the harsh
lighting—blood on her mouth, tear
tracks, smeared
mascara. Al of it accentuated the
crow’s feet at her eyes
and stress lines around her taut
mouth. She didn’t look
again, except to steal quick glances to
ensure she’d wiped
al of it away that she could.
She’d been so rattled she’d left her
purse at Leland
Kel er’s desk, but it didn’t matter.
Any touch-up would look
like clown makeup. Milo apparently
had a hand the size of a
tennis racket, for her cheek, eye and
lip on the right side
were swel ing. The blouse had been
stained with blood
from the split lip.
The cotton T-shirt fel to her knees,
almost hiding the rip
in her slacks. Because one of her
heels had broken in the
parking lot and the other had been left
behind, they’d also
given her a pair of sneakers from the
lost-and-found that
were only about one size too big. She
stuffed the broken
shoe in the trash along with the
blouse and came back out,
fol owing an officer’s direction to
Sergeant Kel er’s area.
He rose at the sight of her, gestured
her to his guest
chair. “You look better. Hot
compresses and a good bath
should help, a few aspirin.” He
touched her face, tilting it
away from him, and his jaw
hardened. The way he touched
her, so easy and confident, made her
go stil . Desperately,
she told herself it was a police thing,
the female perception
of safety, protection. Believing
anything else meant that she
was going to have to tear out her
mind, because it seemed
the only way to stop it from going
down this path over and
over again.
While she believed in Fate, karma
and the forces that
drove destiny, she couldn’t possibly
believe that suddenly
Doms were everywhere, like a damn
convention was in
town. She’d gone years without
meeting a single one
outside of the Internet, after al . It
was far more likely she
was starting to hal ucinate, like a
crack addict snorting up
everything from salt to talcum
powder, or ground glass.
He released her at last, gave her a
nod. “Yeah, you’l be
al right. That would be Milo’s
handiwork there. They’re a
hardcore pain club, miss. They dish it
out without causing
ER visits or police reports, mostly,
but they sure as hel
don’t observe enough of the rules for
the things they do. It
results in what you experienced
tonight, among other
things. I know you were pretty upset
when I found you. Were
you checking out the club…or were
you lost and seeking
directions?”
He asked it with a careful y straight
face, giving her the
out for her dignity, but she thought
lying to a cop would be
far more humiliating. “I was checking
it out. I thought…” As
her voice quavered, he pushed a hot
cup of coffee into her
hands. She clasped the warmth to her,
inhaling the familiar
scent of coffee beans. Something
normal. “I made a
mistake, is al .”
“That’s as may be, but a mistake
shouldn’t lead to this.”
He gestured to her face and general
state. “I wasn’t just
trying to spook Cyrus, miss. You
have every right to file
assault charges. They didn’t ask you
for your consent, did
they? Didn’t have you sign anything
coming in the door or
go over any safety restrictions, health
issues?”
She shook her head. “He asked for
twenty dol ars. I gave
it to him. I guess a court would say
that was consent. It
doesn’t matter anyway. The fact I
sought out a club like that
would tel a judge or jury everything
they’d want to hear. I’m
not stupid, despite the fact I did
something very stupid
tonight.”
“Now, miss—”
“I overheard two of the female police
officers talking
about me when I went into the
bathroom.” She made herself
say it aloud. She
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