Only for the Night (If Only Book 2) (18 page)

V. turned with a smile, hand out. She passed him a bag but didn’t return the smile—she couldn’t. It would be a long time before she smiled again.

Hank wasn’t smiling either. “Thanks.”

He took his bags, and she noticed he kept his fingers away from hers. That hurt. “You’re welcome.”

Did he remember saying those exact words this morning? Would it make a difference if he did?

“Thank you, Sage,” V. said and leaned forward, placing a kiss atop her head like a pleased father—or an indulgent Dom. She glanced at Hank, but if he was jealous of another man touching her, it didn’t show. He looked through her, not at her. She couldn’t stop herself from trying to gain his attention.

“Hank?”

“Hmm?” He was already reaching for the door.

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

Was she asking? Did she think he wouldn’t let her come home, even if he refused her the comfort of his arms? She couldn’t answer her own questions, only knew she needed something from him, some acknowledgment.

He stopped with the door halfway open. “Sure,” he threw over his shoulder, and then he was gone. V. followed him, but not without shooting her a pitying look.

Bastard.

It was a measure of her pain that she wasn’t sure which man she cursed. Likely both.

Hank slammed through the apartment door as if the faster he moved, the easier it would be to get away from the revelation V. had just dumped on him. When it didn’t help, he threw his lunch on the table and cared not a bit that the bag slid across the slick surface and fell off the other side. Knight’s head came up, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Hank knew the feeling.

“She’s a what?”

V. came through the door calmly. Quietly. But he wasn’t calm; he was more angry than Hank had ever seen. Hank could read the rage in his eyes, in the set of his mouth, could feel it radiating off his friend, but he couldn’t seem to care at the moment. All he could think about was Sage. All he could see was her face black-and-blue, just like Tara’s. Hurting. Bleeding. The thought of her asking for someone to do that to her had him eyeing the sink as bile rose in his throat.

Holding open the door, V. motioned to Knight. With a small whine and a glance back at Hank, the shepherd went out. V. closed the door behind him with extreme care, retrieved Hank’s bag, and set both of their lunches on the table with that same careful precision.

Only then did he respond to Hank’s barked question. “She’s a submissive.”

“And you know this how?”

He managed to get the words out, but he was pretty sure he already knew how, and the knowledge was a gnawing pit where his stomach had been. It turned his guts to lead and his voice to gravel. He couldn’t eat now if his life depended on it. “How, V.?”

“Because she was a regular at Heathers.”

He didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “Were you… Did you…?”

“Did I fuck your girlfriend?” V. asked, disgust in his voice. Hank was pretty sure it wasn’t disgust at the thought of having sex with Sage. No, his friend’s aversion was a hundred percent directed Hank’s way. “No, I was not involved with Sage. She was never my sub.”

If his friend hadn’t sounded so matter-of-fact, Hank might’ve doubted him. One look at V.’s face and he couldn’t. V. was telling the truth.

“But she—”
Fuck.
He couldn’t finish that sentence. He didn’t want to. Details of Sage with some other man were on his never-ever-discuss list. Details of her being dominated? He shut that down as soon as it popped into his head. Or tried to.

Striding to the window seat gave him as good an excuse as any to stop looking V.’s way.

“Hank…” V. trailed off with a curse. Hank thought about reassuring him, but most of his attention was sucked up with breathing as deep as he could. Trying to ignore the strange surge of something that wasn’t quite revulsion inside him.

His stomach rolled.

“I’m gonna be as honest with you as I can without punching you,” V. finally said. “If anyone had treated a sub the way you treated Sage downstairs, disdaining her for what she needed, and I witnessed it? The guy wouldn’t last till sunrise without the beating of his life, and I’m not talking BDSM.” The bite of V.’s words assured Hank his anger hadn’t faded one iota. “I haven’t jumped you yet because you’re my friend and I know what you’ve been through, but if you don’t get your head out of your fucking ass, I won’t have a choice.”

Hank’s own anger took off like a rocket. “Like you beat your women?”

It wasn’t fair and he knew it, knew he was spiraling off the deep end and taking V. with him. Hell, he prayed V. sent him there. One well-placed punch and he wouldn’t see his nightmares playing out on the screen of his mind, this time with Sage in the starring role. With Hank—

Fuck.

And it looked like his friend was about to oblige. V. was in Hank’s face before the curse could fade, his eyes burning as he shoved Hank back.

“Did you really just say that to me, asshole? You know me. You practically live with me when we’re on the road. You’ve seen me have sex more than once on a damn tour bus where there’s less privacy than there is in a public restroom. What the hell do you think you’re saying?”

When Hank opened his mouth, V.’s hand came up, and Hank wasn’t entirely sure it was only to caution him. “Think very carefully, bro, before you say whatever’s in your head. Very carefully. I’m not above making you swallow your teeth.”

Maybe that’s what I need.

Hank looked into V.’s blazing eyes and closed his mouth. His anger deflated like a popped balloon.

Not knowing what to say, how to sort through the jumble of thoughts and memories and questions stewing like weeks-old soup in his brain, he turned away. The calm landscape outside the window drew him, and he answered the call, leaning his head against the glass.

V. let him be for a few minutes. When Hank heard his friend pulling out a chair at the kitchen table, he forced himself to turn and face V., to relax back against the window. He’d done enough damage to their friendship today.

When V. spoke, his voice was still tight, but far calmer than Hank felt. “You know the difference, Hank. You know that what happened eight years ago wasn’t BDSM. It was abuse, plain and simple.”

Was it simple? He wanted to believe that, and yet, years later, he still couldn’t. He’d tried, but…

“Can you tell me for certain that no woman has ever been abused by a Dom?”

“Of course not, just like I can’t tell you any religion has never killed in the name of their faith, or any activist hasn’t done the same. Fanatics are everywhere, in every philosophy. That doesn’t make it right, and it doesn’t mean BDSM condones it. You know that.”

He’d thought he did. Still…Sage was—had been—his to protect, not to hurt. Why would she ask someone to do that?

V. wasn’t finished. “You also know not all subs need pain; some, both male and female, need to be controlled—for any number of reasons. Wanting someone else to control you, even needing pain to get off is not shameful. But that’s exactly what you made Sage feel: shame. You made her feel disgusting because you judged her needs. And if you are okay with that, then you aren’t the man I thought you were.”

Hank closed his eyes, but he couldn’t close out the truth of V.’s words or the remembered pain on Sage’s face when he’d stood across the counter from her downstairs. Rubbing his knuckles against his eyelids didn’t erase the past, but it helped him think. “So what do you suggest?”

V. didn’t answer until Hank dropped his hands. He had an elbow leaned on the table, looking casual and composed. Only the tightness around his mouth spoke to his earlier anger. Hank leaned his butt on the windowsill and attempted to relax himself.

“I suggest you spill your guts.”

God no. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“Then you should apologize and kiss her good-bye—and realize you’ve left her with wounds that may never heal. And trust me, Sage has plenty of wounds already.”

Hank hated that V. knew more about her than he did, but he forced down the jealousy and made himself listen.

“Nothing less than a full explanation will ever wipe this slate clean,” V. said. “You have to explain about Tara; it’s the only way she’ll understand.”

He hadn’t talked about it with anyone but V. since he’d left the force. It had taken a bottle of tequila shared between the two of them late one night for him to get it out at all. Just speaking the words, reliving the event that had destroyed the life he’d built, seemed impossible.

And then he replayed the scene in the kitchen, the look in Sage’s eyes when she’d said she’d see him tonight. He hadn’t given her anything to work with; in fact he’d done his best to hurt her, but she’d still reached out. She’d tried to build a bridge to him, even knowing he could hurt her more. Could he live with himself if he walked away now?

Could he live with himself if he accepted what she was? There were only two options at that point, to either become the Dom she obviously needed—though the thought went against everything he’d told himself the past eight years—or ask her to ignore that part of herself so they could be together. Would it be better to cut this off now?

His mind threw up the image of Sage in climax, the ecstasy on her face, the breathtaking beauty that overtook her. The satisfaction that came with knowing he’d transformed her like that. Fulfilled her. Owned her in that moment. He didn’t want to let that go—he wanted to take her again and again until both of them couldn’t move and, after they’d rested, do it all over again.

He didn’t want to walk away, but…

“I can’t be what she needs, V.”

“That should be her decision, not yours.” V. stared him down. “Talk to her. Start there. Everything else can wait.”

Everything else can wait.
A weak huff of laughter escaped. Could it? Was there anything to salvage but the trash littering the floor after the wake?

That should be her decision, not yours.

“Okay.” He blew out a breath. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Good.” V. stood, grabbing his lunch and taking it to the counter. “Then I’m gonna eat and run.”

“You’re not going back to LA, are you?” They still had work to do.

“Not permanently.” V. busied himself putting his sandwich and chips on a plate. “I have a feeling you two will need me after you talk. But you also need privacy. I know how to get myself in trouble,” he said with a passable attempt at a smile. “I’ll be back tonight.”

Hank didn’t know about that, but he wasn’t going to argue. He needed to get his head on straight and get ready. Sage would be off work soon, and he… Well, he didn’t know what was going to happen, but if he wanted to be able to live with himself, he had to start with an apology.

It took her longer to come upstairs than usual. He figured that was on purpose. The light outside was fading rapidly into dusk by the time he heard her footsteps on the stairs. She was dragging. His heart squeezed; she’d worked longer than usual just to avoid him, after being up half the night because of him.

You really are a bastard.

He was sitting in the dark when the door opened. He didn’t wait for her to come in. “Sage.”

She froze in the doorway. He hadn’t bothered turning on the light and her face was covered in shadow, but he could sense her wariness. She didn’t want to be hurt any more than she already had been.
Yeah, definitely a bastard.

“Come in, baby. Come talk to me.”

She took one step, two. Knight followed her inside, threw Hank a solemn glance as if sensing the emotion churning inside his master, and headed for the hallway, probably his bed.

Sage eased the door closed. She didn’t tell him not to call her
baby
, and she didn’t refuse to come in. Good signs, right?

“What is there to talk about?”

Sensing her emotions was nowhere near as much a punch to the gut as hearing them. Hearing her fear. He never wanted her to fear him, but she did. He’d hurt her and she was afraid he would do it again. God, what he wouldn’t give to take back the last few hours.

What had she asked him? What was there to talk about? “Us.”

A little snort escaped her, almost obscured by the scrape of her shoes on the floor. Such a tiny sound, but it struck like a knife.

“Sage, I…” How did he do this? “I’m sorry. I really…I’m sorry. I was a dick downstairs. I was just…”

“Surprised?” She didn’t cross to the window where he sat. Instead she pulled out a chair at the table. Her and V. He was beginning to hate that table. “Not nearly as surprised as I was.”

She hadn’t expected to run into V. Another notch against him. “Why were you surprised?”

“Hank…” A sigh reached him. Sad. Tired. “It’s fine. It was just one night. Don’t worr—”

A rough sound he couldn’t hold back cut her off.

“It’s not fine. Even if you were nothing more to me than a one-night stand,” Hank said, “you deserve respect. I didn’t give you that. I’m sorry.” And he truly was. He had higher standards than that. A man didn’t hurt a woman, even if the hurt was purely emotional. He’d just been too blindsided to see beyond his own fucking emotions.