Knight (An Impossible Novel) (32 page)

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He pressed his lips to mine briefly, and then he blinked hard, clearing away the last of his consuming anger.

“Let’s get you down, sweetheart.”

He reached up and unbuckled the cuffs around my wrists.  As soon as I was free, I sagged against him, my shaking legs refusing to support me.  He caught me up in his arms and eased me down with him as he sank to his knees.  Keeping a supporting arm around my back, he reached back into the Bastard’s pocket and found a cell phone.

My gaze was drawn to the body.  It occurred to me that the gory sight should probably make me want to throw up, but all I felt was a sense of peace.  His
mucky eyes were still open in his destroyed face, the sick light in them extinguished forever.

“Clayton,” Master said into the phone, his voice calm and steady.  “Can you trace this call?  I need you to pick us up.  And bring a body bag.”

Chapter 28

“We’ve finished searching the house and have run his details through the system.”  There were dark circles under Clayton’s bloodshot eyes, but his voice was clear and steady.  He had stayed up through the night casing the place where Smith and I had been taken.  My prison had been in a basement under a house in a modest, quiet Yonkers suburb.  It was hard to believe I had been so close to humanity and yet so far removed for so long.

It was six in the morning, and Smith and I had just been cleared from the hospital.  I had some bruising on my cheek where the Bastard had struck me, but other than that I was physically unharmed.  Smith’s wrists and palms were raw from where he had ripped at his chains, but it had been a fairly simply process to disinfect and bandage the areas where the skin had torn.  Even though we were both exhausted, Smith had insisted that we get our debriefing over with as soon as possible.

Now he sat beside me on the couch in Clayton’s office, holding me close as we waited for him to tell us what information the FBI had gathered on the Bastard.

“His name was Carl Martel.”

Carl Martel.

It was jarring to put a name to the face that had haunted my nightmares.  For so long, he had been almost an abstract concept, a remote, powerful being that held my life and my sanity in his hands.

I felt a surge of satisfaction as I pictured his ruined face and blank, unseeing eyes.  Carl Martel was just a man, a mortal.  And he was dead.

“He spent six months at Lyndon Field Psychiatric Hospital at the age of sixteen for arson,” Clayton continued.  “After that, he barely exists on the public record.  We’re checking his financials, but we haven’t found anything unusual.  He seems to have inherited enough money to live off of when his parents died when he was eighteen.  He never went to college, never held a job, and he bought his house in cash.  His only other asset is a white GMC van, and forensics are checking that over now to see what more we can find.  We suspect that’s how he transported you from Chicago to New York, Lydia, and we might recover more physical evidence on the other women’s cases from trace evidence in the vehicle.”

“Other women?”
  Smith asked.

Clayton’s lips twisted in disgust.  “We found video footage and locks of hair in Martel’s house. 
Eight women.  We’re trying to identify them now to notify their families.  Hopefully their cases will help us get new leads on Martel’s Mentor.  We’ve come up with nothing so far, but with Martel’s limited resources and lack of education, it’s seeming more and more likely that his accomplice was heavily involved in facilitating Martel’s crimes.  He probably helped manipulate the tech to abet in Tucker’s murder.”

My heart sank.  “So you don’t have anything on the Mentor?”

The man who had tortured and imprisoned me might be dead, but the man who had taught him how to do it was still out there.  He might still be hurting other women.  And he was going unpunished for his part in Tucker’s murder.

“No, we don’t,” a voice answered from the open doorway.

An unfamiliar man strode into the room.  He was tall and heavily muscled like Smith, and he had the same confident, powerful bearing.  His salt and pepper hair suggested that he was a few years older, but his green eyes were keen and youthful.  I suspected who he was before he even introduced himself.

“Mrs. Chase.”  He extended his hand for me to shake.  “I’m Kennedy Carver, section chief of the New York office.  I just wanted to say that I’m very sorry for what you’ve been through, and I assure you that the FBI is doing everything in its power to find Martel’s accomplice.  That being said,” he turned his attention to Smith, “our investigation has been considerably hampered by Martel’s death. 
His very violent, very
thorough
death.”

Kennedy extended his hand to Smith.  “I saw the crime scene photos.  Off the record: Good work, Smith.”

Smith shook his hand, but he watched his boss gravely.  “And on the record?”  He asked pointedly.

“You’re suspended for a month. 
With pay.  And you’re going through a psych eval before you come back.”

Smith scowled and opened his mouth to argue, but Kennedy cut him off with a level look.  “You can’t strangle a man with a chain, beat him within an inch of his life, and then burn a hole through his neck and call it self-defense.  You’re lucky I’m not doing more than suspending you.  Clayton will keep heading up the investigation in New York, and I’m sending Miller to work with Agent Byrd in Chicago.  You’re going to have to sit this one out, James.”

That suited me just fine.  If the Mentor had been involved in killing Tucker, then he might still come after Smith.  I leaned into Smith and squeezed his hand, calling his attention to me.  As soon as he looked down into my silently pleading eyes, his furious expression melted.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, knowing he had lost.  He wouldn’t leave me to go out in the field if doing so was going to cause me distress.  He turned his attention back to Kennedy and Clayton.  “I’m taking Lydia home now.  You’ll keep me in the loop.”

“Of course,” Clayton answered, even though Smith hadn’t phrased it as a question.

Kennedy jerked his chin at me, but he kept his eyes on Smith.  “Take the time to look after your sub, James.  We’ll contact you when we find something new in the case.”

I blinked at him, my mouth falling open slightly.  Had he really just casually referred to me as Smith’s submissive?  Smith had told me his boss was in the lifestyle, but for him to tell Smith to take care of me as though I was incapable of taking care of myself was galling.  And right in front of me, no less.

Smith laughed at my shell-shocked expression.  “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you to bed.  I’m sure when you’re well-rested you can come up with plenty of cutting remarks to put Ken in his place.”

I sighed, inwardly admitting to myself that I
was
far too exhausted to formulate a snappy retort.  “Don’t think I won’t,” I said with a pointed look at Kennedy.  His answering grin held a taunting edge, daring me to try it.

I rolled my eyes. 
Doms.

Smith chuckled and kissed the top of my head.  “That’s my girl.”

Late that afternoon, I awoke to a soft tapping sound.  Choosing to ignore it, I kept my eyes closed for a few minutes and savored the feel of Smith’s hard body.  My arm was draped across his ripped abs, my head resting on his defined chest.  The steady beat of his heart below my cheek was one of the most beautiful sounds in the world.  He was safe.  That Bastard – no, Martel – was dead, and he could never hurt either of us ever again.

Needing to look into his eyes, I opened my own.  I immediately understood what the tapping sound was.  He held me against him with one arm, but his other hand held his phone.  A thin layer of bandages was still wrapped around his palm, but it didn’t seem to be hampering his dexterity.  Intent on whatever he was doing, he didn’t notice me staring at him.

“What are you doing?”  I asked curiously.

“Booking a flight,” he replied casually.

“What?”  My heart stuttered.  He was leaving me?  “Where are you going?”

“
We’re
going to Paris.  Tomorrow afternoon.  Until they catch the Mentor, I’ll feel safer with you on another continent.”

My mouth opened and closed a few times as my mind processed that information.  He was booking a flight for me? 
To Paris?

“You can’t do that!”  I finally managed.

He looked at me levelly and turned the phone so I could see the screen.  His thumb hit the “Purchase” button definitively.

“I just did,” he informed me.

“I can’t go to Paris!  What about my school applications?  What about my parents?”

He seemed completely unfazed by my concerns.  “The colleges will still be here when we get back.  You can work on your application
s while we’re abroad.  All of the artistic culture you soak up in Paris will give you more of an edge.  And things have smoothed over with your parents, so I see no reason why they should factor into this.”

Well, that was true.  My parents had called me and made it clear that they didn’t blame me for Tucker’s death.  They wanted me to come home to Chicago, but they had reluctantly accepted my decision to move to New York.  But there was a difference between moving to New York and gallivanting off to Europe at a moment’s notice.  My parents wouldn’t think it a responsible decision. 

And there was another – much more significant – problem with this plan.

“Smith,” his name was a firm protest.  “You can’t spend that kind of money on me.  It’s too much.”

His brows rose.  “It’s done now.  Airlines don’t give refunds.  Besides, what’s mine is yours.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Smith.  I’m your submissive, not your wife.”

He shrugged.  “You will be.”

I gaped at him.  “Is that…”  I heaved in several gulps of air, torn between annoyance and sheer joy.  “Is that a proposal?”

“No.  It’s a fact.  I can promise you the proposal will be much more romantic.”  He grinned in the wake of my stunned silence.  “Do you have any idea how tempting your lips are when they’re parted like that?”

Without waiting for me to answer, he took advantage of my open mouth, pressing his lips to mine.  He took my surprised gasp as an invitation to explore further, and his tongue stroked in to tame mine.  By the time he relented, my head was spinning and my clit was throbbing.

I opened my eyes to find him smiling at me gently.

“I have something for you.  And before you protest: it’s something else that I can’t return, so you’ll have to accept it.”  He kissed me swiftly.  “Wait here.”

I wanted to question him, but I recognized my Master speaking to me.  I decided to wait and see if it was worth arguing over whatever he had gotten me.

He left the bedroom, and I heard the sound of a box being opened in the kitchen.  A package had been waiting for us when we arrived at the apartment, but I had been too exhausted to care about what it contained.  Now my curiosity burned hotter with every second that I waited for him to return.

When he appeared in the doorway, I couldn’t help sucking in an awestruck breath.  Every inch of his sculpted naked body was perfect, but it was his eyes that entranced me most.  They glowed with an intense, fervent light.  My soul instantly responded, opening to him, ceding my body and mind.

He held me in his gaze for a long minute, pulling me further under his power.  Then he pointed to the floor in front of him.

I was kneeling at his feet before I could even think about moving.  He reached out and cupped my cheek tenderly, and I leaned into him.

A metallic flash caught my eye.  In his other hand, he held a solid silver ring.  It was about an inch thick, and wide enough in
diameter to fit around my neck.  A collar.

“Lift your hair for me, sweetheart.”  His voice was gentle, but roughened by emotion.

Tears made my vision hazy as I obeyed, and I blinked rapidly to clear it.  I wanted to fully memorize every facet of Master’s glowing eyes in that moment.

The pliant metal parted enough to ease around my neck.  I shivered as the cool silver pressed against my skin.  Master slipped the staple through the hasp at the back, securing it in an unbroken circle.

“This collar is my promise to care for you, to protect you, and to love you.”  He hooked a small, silver padlock through the staple.  The click of the lock was a soft, loving sound of finality.  “I love you, sub.”

“I love you, Master,” I breathed.  “Thank you.”

Grasping my shoulders, he guided me to my feet so he could claim my mouth.  His hand splayed across my lower back, pressing my belly against his erection.  His other hand reached for my sex, dipping his fingers into my soaked pussy.  He chuckled in dark pleasure as he pumped them slowly in and out, coating them in the slick evidence of my arousal.

“I can see my sub likes her collar,” he murmured against my lips.  I moaned as he spread his fingers inside me, stretching me for him.

His touch left me abruptly, and he gave my shoulders a hard shove.  My shocked cry at the sensation of falling ended on a huff when my back hit the soft mattress.  Master didn’t give me a moment to get my bearings.  He gripped my ankles, adjusting my body so that my calves rested against his shoulders.  As he settled himself over me, his weight pressed my legs towards me, opening my pussy up for his use.  His hands ensnared my wrists, pinning them on either side of my head.  He bound my body with his, needing nothing more than his own strength to ensure my compliance.

But he had more than my compliance; he had my submission.

He tenderly kissed the collar at my throat when he drove into me in one thrust.  His movements were harsh, each possessive stroke holding an edge of pain that only made the pleasure all the sweeter.  He caught my nipple in his teeth, and the sudden extra dose of pleasure/pain sent me hurtling over the edge.

“Master!”
  I screamed out his name as I came, my core gripping him as pleasure wracked my body.  He hardened further in response, and his heat lashed into me as he achieved his own release with a rough shout.

He held me close while our breathing returned to a normal rhythm, his fingers idly tracing the line of collar around my neck, as though he was as entranced by the sight of it as I was by the sight of him.  His eyes darkened with stormy lust, and his hand trailed down between my breasts and over my abdomen, stopping to tease the flesh around my clit.  I gasped and instinctively rocked my hips up into him.