Dominance and Deception (21 page)

Pierce was sitting in his usual spot on the couch, fully dressed, staring into his mug of coffee with an expression I couldn't quite interpret. The sun had just stolen over the horizon, but none of its rays were falling directly through the window yet. I snapped on the lamp to illuminate the gloom, and sat on the floor beside his feet, my back against the couch.

Any other day, he'd have acknowledged me by running his fingers through my hair and letting me take a sip of his coffee. Today was different.

"C'mere,” he said, indicating the couch next to him.

Surprised, I did as he asked, sitting down beside him and curling my feet under me. His odd behaviour from the day before was back, and I bit back the impulse to demand answers from him.

Pierce reached out and toyed with the collar around my neck. To me, collars could be either symbols of ownership or fashion statements, so when I'd officially become Pierce's property, he'd given me two indicators of my status. The first was this collar—heavy, made with thick black leather and adorned with studs, decorative chains and a leashing ring. I wore it in private, taking off any collars or necklaces I'd been wearing during the day as soon as I knew I wouldn't be seen by anyone but Pierce.

The second item he'd given me, a more subtle token I could wear in public, was a silver ring engraved with a pair of handcuffs. I hadn't taken it off since he'd given it to me, and I never intended to.

"You have permission to speak,” Pierce said, dropping his hand back into his lap. His expression was schooled into blankness as he regarded me.

"Sir...” I murmured, suddenly hesitant to ask. “What's wrong?"

At first I thought he'd ignore the question—his face shut down even more, and I felt him tense up. When he spoke, though, I could hardly comprehend the words.

"I need to take my collar back, Faye."

What? No!

All the air seemed to leave the room, and I gasped for breath. The realisation hit that he hadn't called me ‘little tease’ since I'd woken up, and now I was sitting here next to him, as his equal...

Swallowing past the dryness in my mouth, I asked softly, “You don't want to own me anymore?"

"I
can't
own you, Faye. It's too much.” His voice was as level as his gaze. Unwavering.

I couldn't meet his eyes. Staring at my fingers, which were tapping nervously against each other in my lap, I said, “What's changed?"

"I know you need answers, but I can't give them to you.” There was a little warmth in his tone, and I looked up at him, relieved to see it reflected in his face.

He took my hand in his, pulling off the handcuff ring with a gentle tug, and I stared vacantly at my naked finger.

"Sir..."

"Faye—” He bit down on the rest of his sentence—he didn't have to go any further. I had realised my mistake. He wasn't my ‘Sir'. Not anymore.

"Sorry,” I mumbled, raising clumsy fingers to the collar at my throat.

My hands trembled as I unfastened the buckle and pulled the leather strip free of my hair. Instinctively, I curled my fingers around it, unwilling to give it up.

Pierce lay a hand over mine, squeezing for just a moment. Then he took the collar from my grip, removing an integral part of my identity in a split second.

I wanted desperately to cry, but I couldn't reach the tears. Instead, I tried to focus my mind on his words.

I can't own you, Faye. It's too much.

But that didn't mean...

"Zach?” It hurt me, to use his name when we were here, alone in my apartment. “You're releasing me from your collar, but we're...are we still...?"

He took a deep breath before answering, and the sadness in his eyes broke my heart all over again.

"I'm sorry, Faye."

I forgot how to breathe. My heart ceased to beat. The blood stilled in my veins. At least, that was how it seemed for a couple of harsh, agonising seconds.

He kissed my forehead, undeniable tenderness in the gesture, and stood up.

Mechanically, I rose with him and followed him a couple of steps toward the door.

"Wait."

He didn't pause, crossing to my apartment door and pulling it open.

"
Please
,” I whispered, trembling all over, and the desperation in my voice was enough to make him turn in the doorway. “What did I do?"

Pierce shook his head, his jaw tight with emotion.

"This is about what I need, not about anything you did, Faye. Don't personalise this."

Then he was gone, pulling the apartment door closed behind him with a quiet click. And I stumbled over to the couch, sitting down before my knees gave out.

It had been a long, numb weekend, and Santoro had only left my apartment to pick up clothing and a few essentials. I could hardly make sense of the swirling thoughts in my brain, and I kept pretty quiet for the first twenty-four hours, curled up on the couch staring mindlessly at the succession of DVDs Santoro played. When I slept, it was with my head on his knee, as he alternately dozed and worried about me.

My life had fallen apart on Saturday morning. Sunday afternoon was just beginning when I looked over at Santoro and asked, “Do you think I'm overreacting?"

My voice must have taken him by surprise—he stared at my pale face for a second before shaking his head.

"I know you guys were close. Closer than you and I were when we all used to play."

"Yeah,” I muttered, and something in my expression clued him in to the truth.

For around a year before Santoro found his current Mistress, Pierce had allowed me to take out my sadistic impulses on a very willing Santoro. We'd never discussed how serious Pierce and I actually were, though.

"How deep in did you get, Faye?"

I curled up, resting my cheek on my knees and answering in a whisper.

"He owned me. I was his slave...collared to him. For the past two years. And now he's just...gone. He wouldn't even tell me why."

I could tell Santoro felt out of his depth and powerless to help, but one thing he was good at was listening.

"I'm sorry, Faye."

I shrugged, a hint of bitterness creeping in. “It's my own fault. Getting into a serious relationship with someone you have to see every day...it's stupid. You can't just take it for granted that everything will be okay if you break up."

Santoro handed me his coffee—maybe he figured I could use the caffeine more than he could. I took it with murmured thanks, and stared at the steaming liquid as if it held the answers I sought.

"Take next week off work,” Santoro suggested, maybe imagining me wandering like a zombie around the lab, botching tests left, right and centre. “You could use a break."

Even the
thought
of going into work, seeing Pierce, trying to act professionally...it made me flinch.

"Okay."

That night, Santoro managed to persuade me to eat a little, take a shower and sleep in my bed—after he'd changed the sheets Pierce and I had spent all Friday night rolling around in. Monday morning arrived, and Santoro rose from the couch at seven in preparation to go to work. His alarm woke me, and as I listened to the distant patter of the shower, everything began to implode on me again.

I hadn't cried since Pierce had left—I'd just been too numb—but now the tears completely took over. I curled around a pillow, one hand at my throat as I tried to control my shuddering sobs.

When Santoro checked in on me, he immediately sat down beside me, laying a comforting hand on my shoulder and trying to calm me.

"It feels wrong, Tommy,” I said. “
I
feel wrong. If I'm not his...what am I?"

God, that sounded pathetic. Can I really not function without him?

"You're what you were before you met him,” Santoro said. “You'll remember. It just takes time."

He waited with me until my tears had dried up and he was late for work, then he sighed.

"I'm gonna call your boss, okay? Let her know you won't be in this week."

He left a message with one of the other lab techs, since the department head was in a meeting, then turned back to me.

"Want me to stay with you today?"

"Are you sure?” After an entire weekend of this already, I was surprised he'd offer.

Santoro nodded, squeezing my shoulder. “Let me just call—” He caught himself before he could put his foot in his mouth, but I knew exactly who he needed to call, and nausea twisted in my stomach.

"I'll be right back, okay?"

Closing the bedroom door behind him, he called Pierce, and I could still hear his side of the conversation.

"Boss, it's me.” A pause. “I'm at Faye's place. Have been since Saturday."

He moved away from the door, and the rest of the conversation was lost. When he returned, he seemed kinda pissed off, and my curiosity twinged.

"What did he say?"

"That I could have the day off,” Santoro replied, sitting on the edge of the bed.

I hesitated before asking, “Did he...mention me?"

"No."

Ouch.

I nodded slowly, pain radiating from every pore.

"Oh."

"It's his fault, Faye, not yours."

I shrugged, and he continued more forcefully. “He walked out without giving you a reason why. In my book, that makes him the bad guy."

Squeezing my shoulder, he got up to go and make breakfast. I tried to take his words to heart, but Pierce had never been a bad guy, not in my book.

Why would he change now?

The precinct's lab, previously so safe and full of comfort, felt like enemy territory.

I walked slowly around the room, powering up various pieces of equipment. The mass spectrometer beeped a confirmation, letting me know it was ready and willing to do its job, and I gave it a sad smile, wishing I could say the same thing.

My week away from the precinct meant I was able to function, at least. I still felt like someone had cut away a vital part of me, but I'd developed certain coping strategies. I'd replaced Pierce's ring with a simple silver band, so I didn't notice it wasn't there every time I moved my fingers. I'd also taken to wearing one of my heavier fashion collars around the house, so when I woke up in the morning, I didn't immediately notice I wasn't wearing his.

But deep down, I knew the truth. It felt as though it was killing me, like a slow-acting poison.

Layton, Santoro and Beaumont had rallied around me, voicing their shock that Pierce would just leave me like that, and offering listening ears if I wanted to talk about it. So far, I hadn't taken them up on it—I didn't even know what I'd say. Over the past week, at least one of them had been with me every night, distracting me from my problems with movies and popcorn, or video games.

I hadn't heard anything from Pierce. I didn't know what I'd do when he came down to the lab today, and I couldn't think about it now, or I'd just crawl under my desk and cry.

I heard the elevator arrive as I was rummaging through my CDs, trying to find something that wouldn't remind me of him. For a second I froze, then relaxed as I heard footsteps. Pierce was as silent as a cat.

"Hey, Faye,” Santoro called, and I heard the thud of evidence boxes being set down on my workbench. “How's it going?"

I picked up a CD I hadn't listened to in years and slotted it into the stereo, turning down the volume before heading over to meet Santoro.

"Okay, I guess."

He saw through the lie, pulling me into a hug.

"This is the hard part,” he reminded me. “After today, it'll get easier."

He understood what I was going through more than Layton and Beaumont could. I just hoped he was right about that. Nodding, I stepped out of his arms and shrugged on my lab coat.

"What did you bring me?"

It only took a few minutes for Santoro to fill me in on the case, then he was gone with a final supportive hug, leaving me alone to contemplate the evidence. Although my mind had been in turmoil since last weekend, I'd really missed the challenge of forensic science, and I threw myself into the task of sorting the bags into piles: evidence we could pull DNA from, evidence we could test for fingerprints, evidence we could sweep for fibres...

For the first half an hour, the back of my neck prickled as I listened for the arrival of the elevator, for the sound of breathing, a rustle of clothing—anything that might have indicated Pierce's arrival. As the minutes passed, I slowly began to relax, but around noon the elevator pinged again, and every muscle in my body tensed.

"How's the evidence coming along?” Detective Erica Beaumont asked, and I sighed, though I didn't know whether it was with relief or disappointment. I offered her a weary smile.

"Getting there. I should have something for you in about thirty minutes."

The detective held out a coffee cup, and I took it gratefully.

"Thanks. I know caffeine's just gonna make me jumpier, but I was starting to feel the lack."

"Pierce is on his way back from interviewing the victim's parents,” Beaumont said, as if she knew how nervous I was.

I checked my computer monitor before speaking, my voice low and hesitant. “Do you think he's just gonna avoid me from now on?"

Beaumont took a second to consider before answering, and I was glad she wasn't just pulling a generic reassurance from her mind.

"From now on? Probably not. For the time being? I'd say he's planning to give you some space."

I took a sip of my drink, my brow furrowed. “What if I don't want space?"

"You want to persuade him to reconsider,” Beaumont said, her expression cautious. “Faye, you do remember who you're talking about, here?"

"How could I not?” I said, pacing across the room. “I dunno, Erica... I just can't sit back and accept this, not without some kind of explanation—"

"I don't want to see you get hurt any more, Faye. None of us do. Just...be careful.” Touching my shoulder gently, Beaumont headed for the door.

Alone once more, I tried to throw myself back into my work, but the idea of confronting Pierce wouldn't leave me alone. Acting on impulse, I dropped the printout I'd been studying and made for the elevator.

The doors shut, sealing me inside, and the elevator remained on that floor while I tried to figure out where Pierce's next stop would be when he got back to the precinct. It had been long enough since the body had been discovered that I was pretty sure he'd head over to see Bill Clarke, the medical examiner. Unless he had a suspect to escort to interrogation...