Taken by Chance (19 page)

chapter
21

Chance had finally
gotten her to sleep. He’d had to wait, buzzing inside like an entire hive of
pissed off killer bees, while she finally let her own exhaustion overtake her
and drifted off. And she
was
exhausted—hiding stuff like that put a strain on her, like it would
anyone. Chance knew that from experience.

But it wasn’t
really the time to be laying more stuff at her feet. What he could do, though,
was solve this particular problem for her. Emotional scars didn’t respond to
threats from big, military-trained men. Cowards with cameras did.

Chance pounded on
Ford’s office door, thankful they’d had the foresight to give the lawyer an
on-site office. He didn’t expect to find it full.

“What the hell?”
he said. Ford, Adra, and Declan Donovan were all looking at him like he’d
caught them at something. He did not have time for this.

“We were just
putting together a plan for you to approve,” Ford said, getting to his feet.
“We weren’t going to bother you until we had everything in place.”

“Ford, I need an
opinion on something.
In private.
Now.”

The room chilled
under the influence of far too much testosterone. Pissing matches between Doms
were rare at Volare, mostly because Chance thought they were stupid and didn’t
tolerate them, but it was instinctual to bristle at a challenge. They must have
seen something in Chance’s face, because both
Ford
and
Declan brought themselves down.

“No worries,”
Declan said, standing up. “Ford and Adra have agreed to help me rehabilitate my
image, and I want the club to be part of it. Needs your approval
eventually—I’m not going to bring the club into it without that. We’ll
talk later.”

Chance watched
silently as Declan escorted a meek-looking Adra out, knowing he was being a
complete dick. He didn’t really care at this point.
More
important things to do.

“Ford,” he said.

Ford’s gaze was
still focused on Adra—or on Declan’s hand on the small of
Adra’s
back. The man did not look happy.

“Ford, get your
goddamn head in the game,” Chance said.

“What do you want,
Chance?”

“I need to know
what happens to the club if I get in trouble.”

That got Ford’s
attention. He ran his hand through his blond hair and sat back down, saying,
“Well, shit. What are you talking about?”

“There’s something
I need to take care of,” Chance said.

“I’m your lawyer,
Chance. Don’t beat around the bush, it’s a waste of time.”

“Paparazzi scum
are harassing Lena. I’m going to stop them.”

“Meaning?”

Chance wanted to
be able to say he was just going to scare them, or bribe them, or bribe them
and scare them—whatever worked. That’s what his intent was, anyway. He
gritted his teeth.

“Meaning I’m going
to find them and get them to stop. Dudes with cameras sometimes make a fuss
about stuff like that, but I’m not putting up with this. What’s the club’s
liability if they come out swinging or make accusations?”

Ford shrugged. “If
worse came to worst, you might have to resign for insurance purposes. But the
club doesn’t have any direct liability. We’re not going to get sued if you go
off and do something stupid on your own time.”

“Excellent,”
Chance said.

A couple of phone
calls, and Chance had the information he needed. Paul Cigna of the peeping
camera and dipshit hat had been seen tailing Richie Kerns almost exclusively. And
Richie had been spending his nights hanging out at Kendo, some new club where
people tried hard to be seen.

Ergo, Chance was
going to Kendo.

He was also trying
very, very hard to maintain that sense of calm.
That Lena Zen.
Because these were two douchebags who really deserved to face some painful
consequences.

And there one of
them was: dumb blue hat, camera around his neck, cigarette in his mouth,
hanging out on the corner like he wasn’t a piece of crap. Chance parked a block
or two down and made for Paul Cigna in a direct line. He didn’t care if Paul
made him, or if Paul ran. He’d catch him.

Or, as luck would
have it, he’d just grab him by the arm and drag him into the trashed alley next
to the club.

“Hey what the
hell?” Paul sputtered. “Look, don’t take the camera, ok? I’ll go to the ATM and
get…”

And then he saw
Chance’s face.

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah, oh shit,”
Chance said. “Call him. Right now. Get him out here.”

“Who?”

Paul actually
looked like he thought that would work.

“Don’t mess with
me, Paul, it’s going to make me angry.
Your buddy, Richie.
Call him, get him out here, right fucking now.”

Chance didn’t
touch him. He just…loomed.
And thought very hard about
punching Paul in the gut.

The message must
have gotten through.

“Yeah, ok, Jesus
Christ. But he’s probably coked up. I can’t do anything about that.”

They didn’t have
to wait. Richie definitely had something going with Paul—otherwise they
wouldn’t have been attached at the hip, and Richie wouldn’t have come spilling
out the side door into an alley that smelled like piss and rot, all eager to
talk to Paul.

Well, eager until
he saw Chance, anyway.

“Paul, what
the—”

Chance shoved him
into the dirty wall and held him there. Not hard. Just enough to let him know
he could pick him up and launch him over the goddamn building if he felt like
it.

“I don’t want
either of you to speak until spoken to. This is for your own safety. There is
nothing I want more than to end both of you right now, so please, for all of
our sakes, do not fucking
test
me. Say you understand.”

Richie looked like
he was about to piss himself. Paul Cigna only looked impatient, like he wanted
to get something over with.

“We get it,” Paul
said. “What do you want?”

“I want to know
why you’ve been stalking Lena Simone Maddox.”

“Ok, first thing,”
Paul said, lighting up another cigarette. “I am not a
stalker
, for
Chrissakes
. I don’t sit
around writing letters and collecting hairbrushes like some lonely freak. I’m a
professional.”

Chance’s anger was
rising. This man didn’t take what he’d done seriously. Just casually dismissed
all the damage he’d done to another human being, like his lack of infatuation
somehow made it better. Like any of that mattered to the person he’d hunted.

Chance grabbed the
cigarette out of Paul’s mouth. It hissed against his hand as it went out, and
Paul’s mouth dropped open.

“Not in the mood,”
Chance said. “I don’t care what you call yourself. But if you don’t tell me
what’s going on right now, I swear to God—”

“Jesus, dude,”
Paul
squeaked. “Richie doesn’t pay me enough for this. It’s
his thing, not mine. He paid me to keep it up.”

Chance reeled, and
looked back at Richie to find the man actually blubbering. “What?
Why?
”

With shaking
hands, Paul Cigna lit his third cigarette. “He wants the publicity. Wants a new
career. Wanted your girl to flip out, do something nuts, keep the story going
any way he could.” He shrugged, cigarette glowing. “It’s just a job.”

Chance saw red.

Later, he
remembered the smell of the cigarette.

He remembered the
feel of Paul Cigna’s bony wrist in his hand as he twisted him around and
slammed him into the wall.

He remembered the
blue fedora falling into a puddle of foul liquid leaking off in a trail from a
pile of garbage bags.

There was Richie
Kerns, shouting, and Paul Cigna, begging. There was the sound of his own blood
rushing in his ears, his breathing echoing in his head, and the knowledge that
this man had psychologically tortured Lena with the hope that she’d crack and
it would make for good entertainment.

And then there was
Lena.
Ever-present in his mind.

The
Zen of Lena.

What would happen
to Lena if he broke this man’s arm, face, whatever?

He let Paul Cigna
go.

“You fucking
psycho
—” the pap said as he
stumbled away from Chance, trying to find a scrap of dignity somewhere on the
alley floor.

“Don’t,” Chance
said, rolling his head from side to side. “Just give me the remaining pictures,
and we’ll be done.”

“How about you go
fuck yourself?”

“Interesting
counteroffer,” Chance said. He was losing his patience. “Let’s see what I can
come up with.”

“Hey guys!”

It was Richie
Kerns, the idiot with sunglasses hanging from his shirt, holding his hands
spread wide like he had a big idea. All of a sudden, the jackass felt
empowered. He’d been quietly whimpering against the wall the whole time, and
now he had an idea? Chance hadn’t even let himself contemplate Richie Kerns. Or
rather, Richie Kerns and Lena. He didn’t trust himself to do that, so being
forced to talk to him like a human person wasn’t Chance’s favorite thing to do.

“What?” Chance
growled.

“Look, dude? I get
it, ok. She’s your girl
now,
I see how that’s awkward.
But you’re not looking at this from the right perspective. You gotta help her
see the light, man.”

“Richie, shut up,”
muttered Paul.

Chance wondered at
what was happening now. It was almost as if Richie’s drug addled brain had just
kicked into
gear,
but wasn’t quite caught up.

“No, it’s cool, I
got this. He just doesn’t get it.” Richie smiled at Chance. He probably thought
it was charming. “You have to talk to her, man. She’s being so dumb. I mean,
come on, right, we all know she’s never going to be a serious actress or
whatever, and nobody gives a shit about what she writes. That’s just how it is.
She’s hot, and that’s what people want to see, and those pictures made her
actually almost famous. She could be making a freaking fortune if she’d only
work with me on this!”

“He happens to be
right, you know,” Paul said, looking for his matches somewhere on the ground.
He’d dropped them when Chance had briefly flirted with the idea of kicking his
ass. “He’s an idiot, but he’s right about this. She’s never going to be
anything other than what she is. She might as well capitalize on it. But if
you’re going to beat someone up for making the suggestion, I would encourage
you to go after Richie.”

Richie cursed.
“Paul, c’mon, man. Why?”

Chance ran his
hand over his head, his mind spinning as things clicked into place. This
attitude: this was what Lena thought, too. No faith in her. No one had faith in
her, not even Lena.
Especially not Lena, not anymore.

Because
of people like this.

“How much for the
photos?” Chance said. “All of them. Every copy.”

“No, dude, you
don’t get it—”

“Richie, shut up,”
Paul said. He was smiling in the evil glow from his cigarette. “Mr. Dalton,
Richie doesn’t have any pictures. He gave them all to me as part of our deal.
You’re willing to pay to for them?”

“Yes.”

“Paul, what the
hell? What about me?” Richie complained.

“No one cares,
Richie. This has been a bust. And I want to make a profit on this somehow,”
Paul said, dropping his cigarette and squishing it like a bug. Chance hated how
smug the man was. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Dalton.”

chapter
22

Lena completed her
millionth lap of Chance’s roof garden, taking another peek over the side to see
if his car was approaching.

Nope.
Still not there.

He’d left her
another note, but it was, as notes went, pretty terrible. “Be back soon?”
Crappy note. Lola had laughed and said that was about as good as he got in the
note department.

Lena had used the
time to prepare.
Or to try to.
She was getting more
and more irritated that Richie and Paul Cigna had managed to take that bondage
scene away from her. As messed up as she’d been, that position…God. She’d been
so helpless, so open. Knowing that Chance could do anything he wanted to her in
that position, anything at all…

And she hadn’t
gotten to enjoy it. And neither had Chance.

It was maybe a
minor thing to focus on, given all the crap that had happened already, but for
some reason it was the final straw. Lena’s frustration was only compounded by
the fact that she was worried. Not just worried about Chance—though,
honestly, given his tendency to run around taking on people who hurt her, she
was pretty worried—but worried and regretful, over her own behavior.

Lena knew she had
been stupid. And neurotic. And all kinds of messed up. It was a fantasy to
pretend that she wasn’t already dependent on Chance in some very important
ways, that
she wasn’t emotionally involved, that he didn’t
own a very important part of her. But knowing that it was stupid, that it
didn’t make sense, and that it wasn’t helpful did absolutely nothing to stop
the feelings of dread and panic that she continually had to fight off when she
tried to acknowledge that fact.

The truth was, in
Lena’s world, when you depended on someone—when you loved
them
—that was when everything would fall apart. The
only person in her life who hadn’t done that yet was Thea. Lena didn’t know if
she’d ever be able to shake that fear, but she did know that she wanted to, for
Chance. Chance deserved better.

She had no idea if
he really wanted her, or would ever really want her, or what the hell was going
on, but she did know that Chance deserved much better, even if he was convinced
he couldn’t be with anyone.

Talk about screwed
up.

“What a pair,” she
said to herself.

“Which pair are we
talking about?” Chance said from behind her. “If it’s the one I’m thinking of,”
he said, letting his eyes roam, “I would have to agree.”

Lena just stared
at him and his grin. Then she laughed, in spite of how annoyed she was. He
could always get her to laugh.

“Where the hell
were you?” she demanded. But before he could tell her, she’d launched herself
up into his arms, wrapping herself around him in a big kiss.

“Hey, I left a
note,” he said.

“Leave better
notes. No, seriously, I’m mad at you,” she said. She really was annoyed, and
yet just could not keep her hands off of him.

“I went to go take
care of the picture situation,” Chance said, setting her down. His face had
changed. Darkened. “I’m not ok with those bastards dogging you indefinitely.
That is not your life, and you are not under their control. You should be able
to make whatever choices you want without being afraid.”

Lena didn’t quite
know what to say. On the one hand, something deep inside of her swooned at the
idea of Chance standing up for her
like
that—again
.
That he’d make it
his mission to protect her, to, like,
avenge
her? Yes, swoon.
Many, many swoons.
But
truly, at the same time?
It wasn’t the middle ages, and nothing Chance
could do to Paul Cigna or Richie Kerns would help Lena to feel any differently
about the things that had already happened.

“Chance,” she
said, putting her hand to his face. She loved his skin. “Thank you, but—”

“Wait,” he said,
taking hold of her hand. “There’s something I need to tell you. You need to
listen first.”

That last
sentence—the Dom voice. Would she ever not respond to it?
He was like a hypnotist
,
it was insane
.
But his eyes weren’t the usual clear, bright, piercing blue. Instead they were
mercurial, like they had been when he’d told her their arrangement couldn’t
work, and instantly Lena froze.

She struggled to
fight down the panic.

“Ok,” she said.
Her voice sounded brittle. Chance frowned.

“Sweetheart, it’s
not that,” he said gently. “Look at me. Stop worrying. I told you I wasn’t
going anywhere.”

And with that, he
kissed her.
Soft, warm, sweet.
His
hand on her cheek, his body close to hers.

Calming.

“You were going to
say that taking care of Paul and Richie doesn’t fix everything, weren’t you?”
he asked.

How did he do
that? Honestly?

“Yes,” she said.

“Yeah, well,
believe me, I know all about that,” Chance said, sitting down on one of the
couches and pulling Lena onto his lap. “All right, so the thing I wasn’t
telling you is this. My first serious girlfriend was a girl named Jennie Sands,
and I was a dick to her. Broke her
heart,
treated her
badly. Not on purpose, but man, was I dumb. And then I got offended when people
tried to point out that I was being an asshole.”

“So you were being
a teenager?”

“Don’t make excuses
for me. Nineteen is old enough to know better. Anyway, I broke Jennie’s heart
and made her feel like crap, and so she started dating this loser named Sean
Morrigan. I didn’t care one way or another, ignored her when she tried to get
my attention, continued my general cocky asshole behavior, totally
self-absorbed and not thinking about anyone but myself. I enlisted, and when I
came back, Jennie was dead.”

Lena had been
about to speak, but now she just sat there, staring at Chance with her mouth
open. He smiled sadly and held her with those eyes.

“Yeah. Sean
Morrigan beat her. Badly. Had been, the whole time I’d been ignoring her. One
day he hit her hard enough that she fell back and smacked her head on the
corner of a table. Don’t say it’s not my fault,” Chance said, preempting her.
“I know there’s no direct line between me treating her like crap and Sean
Morrigan being an abusive piece of crap. And I’m not saying that if it hadn’t
been for me she wouldn’t have gotten into that situation, and I’m not saying…shit.
I just don’t know, do I? It certainly wasn’t her fault. How close is anyone, at
their most vulnerable point, to getting into bad situations they wouldn’t get
into otherwise?”

Lena traced the
line of his jaw with her fingertip, unable to look away. Chance wanted her to
see everything.

“That’s actually
something I know all about myself,” she said quietly.

“After that, I
went off the rails for a while. Like I did in Nigeria. I’ve been in a lot of
fights, a lot of physical altercations, every time I see anything that even
comes close… It’s like I’ve been trying to make up for not being around when
Jennie needed someone. It’s not normal, the feeling I get in those situations,”
he said.

“No, I wouldn’t
think so,” Lena said. “They aren’t normal situations.”

“You asked me what
my number one fear was, remember?”

“Yeah. I only got
fear number three.”

Chance smiled, and
tucked Lena’s hair behind her ear. “Yeah, well, fear number one is that I’m
like those guys, only with a different finish. Just the other side of the same
coin.”

Lena thought back
to when she’d tried to take control by confronting Paul Cigna, how she’d
wondered if, for her, giving up sexual control to Chance was a way of gaining
control over her life. She thought she understood about coins and sides. She
frowned.

“That’s not you,”
she said.

“Don’t argue,” he
said, and those sea glass blue eyes flashed. “That’s not something I’d ever ask
anyone else to be a part of. Hence not being able to get involved. Except I
fucked up, Lena, because I love you anyway.”

Everything.

Just.

Stopped.

Lena felt too many
things at once, too many to count or identify, like a flock of fluttering,
nervous birds crowding her inside her head, and so she sat there, quiet and
still, and tried not to frighten them away.

It didn’t work.

The flock exploded
outwards and inwards all at once, whirling her around, tossing her between
elation—oh God, so much elation—and disbelief, and
confusion—so much confusion—and, as always, sullen and immovable,
the dread she carried within her that anyone who loved her would inevitably
turn against her.

“Lena,” Chance
said, very intently. “Look at me.”

As if she could
look anywhere else.

“You don’t have to
say anything to that right now. In fact, you’re not allowed to yet. You have to
think on it without all this stuff going on. But I’m still going to take care
of you. I’m going to protect you. And I’m going to help you as much as I can.”

Lena licked her
lips and swallowed, trying to wet her suddenly dry throat, trying not to choke
on the immense gratitude she felt for how he’d just let her off the hook. If
he’d stormed up there declaring he loved her and demanding something from her
in return, she knew that she would have bolted in a complete panic, leaving a
Lena-sized hole in the door on her way to find someplace to hide.

As it was she was
pulled tight between dread and devotion, and all that was left, loud enough to
make itself heard
,
was how much she wanted him. How
much she wanted him to dominate her. How much she wanted that scene she’d been
robbed of. That peace.

“I don’t want to
think about anyone else when I see a blindfold,” she whispered.

“I know,
sweetheart,” Chance said. “That’s why I’m going to give you something else to
think about. I’m going to take what’s mine.”

Lena stood in
Chance’s bedroom, naked and alone. He’d led her there, ordered her to strip and
to wait, and then he’d gone…somewhere.
To get things.
Toys. Equipment.

Waiting was
torture. Waiting let her mind wander. Waiting let her think, over and over
again, about what he was going to do.

And she knew it
was on purpose. She knew that Chance knew exactly what he was doing.
Diabolical, brilliant, beautiful man.

But he didn’t know
about the war going on inside of her, between her rational, cynical side and
her heart. Her inner cynic was screaming at her to run. Just get the hell out
of there before the inevitable happened.

Her heart…

Lena didn’t know.
She wanted to be good enough for him. She wanted to be good enough to love him in
the way he deserved.

She was just to
the point of worrying that these preoccupations, that this anxiety about it
all,
would intrude on her thoughts and poison the scene all
over again when she heard the door open behind her.

“Close your eyes,”
he said.

And this time,
knowing that Chance was doing something about the pictures, that voice banished
all of those thoughts. Just gone. Lena could grab a hold of that voice and ride
the moment.

God, she was
grateful. Screw the rest. She’d figure it out later.

She could hear him
moving around the room, messing with equipment, making things ready. Something
clinked. Metal on metal. Not being able to see, not
knowing,
was so much worse than simply waiting. It left her mind
empty, and so she had to fill it with all sorts of thoughts…

“Put your hands
behind your back.”

Lena did, and the
feel of the now familiar leather cuffs made her shudder. She wondered if her
nipples were peaked. They ached, so they must have been.

And then she felt
the blindfold come down. She’d obediently kept her eyes closed, but that was
different—she knew she could open them at any time.

Now she was one
step closer towards utter helplessness.

So it was that the
first sensation on her skin made her gasp, even though it was feather light,
just a small, delicate, soft caress, trailing down the front of her body. It
tickled. It made her breathing speed up, it put every nerve in her body on high
alert.

Then came the
sharp sting on her nipple.

Lena squealed.

A flogger? A crop?

Her muscles
tensed. She could have sworn her hearing had improved, and her sense of
smell—she could smell Chance, that male musk that was only his. But he
didn’t speak, he didn’t explain, he didn’t warn. She had no idea what the next
sensation would be, or where, or how it would feel.

She was pretty
sure she was shaking.