Picture Her Bound-epub (9 page)

“Get back,” Jacques snapped at her.

She rolled, grunting as her injury was jarred. Creature barked, and the two men grappled in her kitchen. By the time she got upright, Jacques was on top of Chuck, his knee in the man’s back. He yanked out the standard-issue cuffs from Chuck’s belt and used the man’s own cuffs to restrain him.

“Oh fuck me,” she spat out between clenched teeth. Her calf was torn and bloody, from what, she couldn’t tell.

Creature dragged himself over to her, whining and licking her hands.

Outside, the night lit up with red and blue lights.

“Odalia?” Mathieu called, a frantic note in his voice.

“Suspect is restrained, officer down,” Jacques yelled to the people outside.

Oh, shit. The SD card. It was in Chuck’s front pocket.

Before Odalia could get a word out, officers entered, guns in hand. Creature stood over her, growling, too many people talking at once.

An officer she didn’t recognize pointed his gun at Creature.

“No, he’s not dangerous.” Odalia wrapped her arms around her dog, glaring at the cop.

“I’ve got him.” Mathieu shouldered through the crowd and went to a knee by her side.

Creature strained toward the man, whimpering. He swung his head and growled at another officer who got too close.

“I’ll ruin you. I’ll ruin you!” Chuck howled as the officers read him his Miranda rights and hauled the struggling cop out of her house.

She watched him leave, knowing he had all the pieces of the puzzle on his person to make that happen. Her life as a cop—it was over. He’d reveal everything about her side job, her lifestyle and that was it. She’d be off the force.

Odalia limped to her Sergeant’s office after a long morning. It was about to get longer.

Philip Soulier-Rouge was a man of few words. Had he been a Dominant in the dungeon, Odalia would have avoided him whenever possible. She respected him, but there was an intangible, intimidating quality about the man.

“Sarge?” She tapped his door with her knuckles. “Got a minute?”

Rouge, as they called him behind his back, was bent over paperwork, a cup of coffee sitting nearby. He glanced up at her, his expression shuttered.

“Wondered when I’d see you.”

“Yeah. Mind if I close this?” She shut his door before he nodded. This was not going to be an easy conversation. If she had the choice to stand or sit, she’d have stood, except the pain shooting up her leg made that uncomfortable, so she chose one of the chairs.

“How’s the leg?”

“I think ricochet hurts worse than getting shot.” She winced as the muscles twinged.

Rouge nodded but didn’t speak. Of course he wouldn’t. He’d let her dig her own hole.

“Okay, here’s the thing.” She blew out a breath. “Chuck is going to say a lot of stuff about me. And Jacques Savoy. What our personal relationship is. I want to be straight with you—”

Rouge slashed his hand through the air. “Your personal life—is your business. Not mine. Internal Affairs is handling Officer Douglas.”

He leaned down and picked something up from the ground. Rouge set a large evidence bag on the desk. The camera. Except when she’d last seen it, the camera had appeared to be in working order. Now it was broken, the display screen cracked.

Odalia stared. She hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. Her mind was a little muddled. She licked her lips and glanced at Rouge. “There was a SD card in Chuck’s pocket.”

Rouge spread his hands and shrugged. “All the electronics we recovered from the scene were broken. There’s a SD card in here, but it’s in tiny pieces.”

She remained still, running his words over in her head. The camera had not been broken at the scene. She’d seen it. She had to take on faith the SD card was the one in the evidence bag. Broken.

“Douglas is facing hefty charges. He took items out of evidence. His record of harassing female officers is long, and works against him considering what happened last night. He used impounded cars for personal use. There’s reason to believe he’s taken drugs somewhere between patrol cars recently, which they were already looking into quietly. On top of all that is breaking and entering, cruelty to animals and attempted homicide. We stand by our own, Foucheaux. In this case, it’s you.”

Rouge’s gaze seemed sharper, as if he were trying to communicate without words while saying all the right things.

“I understand, sir.” She licked her lips. At least she hoped she did.

“Good. You’re on leave for a few days. Get some rest. How’s your dog?” Rouge’s expression eased, and he showed genuine concern.

Tears prickled, and she sucked in a deep breath. Her baby. “Mathieu took him to an emergency care clinic. He got out of surgery half an hour ago. There’s some internal damage, but he’s going to be okay.”

“Let us know if you need anything.” Rouge rose to his feet and extended his hand.

Odalia hoisted herself up, using the arm rests, and clasped his hand. “Thank you, sir. I will.”

She hobbled out of the office, ready for a pain pill, her dog and a nap.

Jacques leaned against her desk, waiting. Tension radiated off him.

“Let’s go,” she said.

They left the station, not a word spoken until they got in his Jeep.

“Well?” Jacques asked.

“He destroyed the SD card and camera.”

“Who did?” Jacques turned toward her.

“Rouge. He’s protecting me. Almost spelled out,
I’m covering your ass
.” She shoved a hand through her hair. She didn’t understand it, but she’d take it. Sometimes it was better to not ask.

Jacques shook his head. “Where to?”

“Mathieu’s. Food along the way, if possible.” She leaned her head against the seat, the tension that had been riding her for days leeching out. It wasn’t really over, not until Chuck was charged, put to trial and found guilty, but for today, it was over.

* * * * *

Jacques stepped into Midnight Ink and pulled his sunglasses off.

“Hi, sexy.” Sassy smiled. She was attractive, but she was no Odalia.

He nodded. “Looking for Odalia. She here?”

“She’s with Rosie.” Sassy thumbed over her shoulder, and sure enough, Odalia sat with her back to the front of the shop, hands clasping the headrest of a tattoo chair.

“Thanks.” He moved past Sassy and approached the little cop he couldn’t shake.

Twenty hours, thirty minutes and some change, that’s how long since he’d seen her.

After wrapping up at the station, Jacques had driven her to Mathieu’s apartment where she’d piled cushions on the floor next to Creature’s bed and passed out. While everything in him had said to stay, Mathieu told him to leave. Jacques had spent the last miserable twenty hours thinking about what the other man had said before he’d left.

Odalia’s eyes were squished closed, and her face scrunched up. Rosie saw him first. She smiled and lifted the machine from Odalia’s thigh. Her legs were on full display in a short pair of shorts, combined with a pair of fashionable combat boots. Her tank top was plain, but all the better to set off her natural beauty and the ink she wore.

He stopped and stared at the design. It was one his
mamère
had first shown him, and it was old. A heart, with almost crude lines and swirling designs, was surrounded by an oval of dots and a fan of more curls rose from the top. It wasn’t a big design, maybe the size of Odalia’s palm. Rosie had added shading to give it texture and life, but he recognized it.

“Hey,” Odalia said, jarring him to reality.

Jacques swooped down and kissed her, hard and fast.

If this wasn’t a sign, he didn’t know what was.

“I’m almost done, and then she’s all yours.” Rosie shooed him back and bent to her work.

“You think you should be getting a tattoo after what you been through,
bébé
?” He pulled a rolling chair out from under an adjacent table and sat opposite Rosie.

“I got cut up on my other leg. Plus I’m on antibiotics and painkillers.” She flashed him a smile. “Besides, when else do I have time?”

“True.”

“You guys going to the dungeon tonight?” Rosie asked, almost innocently if it weren’t for the curl to her lips she hid by ducking her head.

“I hadn’t made New Year’s plans.” Odalia shrugged and watched the path of the needle.

Jacques took her hand from the back of the chair and curled his fingers around hers. “We should go,” he said.

Odalia glanced at him, brows lifted. “Okay.”

“How’s Creature?”

“Spoiled rotten. Mathieu and his dog, Gator, are all over him. Creature and Gator are littermates. They helped me get him home today, so he can go in and out the doggie door and not mess with all the stairs at Mathieu’s. But now Mathieu and Gator won’t leave. He’s worse than a mother hen.”

“And that’s a wrap.” Rosie sat up and wiped the tattoo clean of excess ink and blood.

“Why that?” Jacques asked, curiosity eating at him.

“Dad had a tattoo of it. Makes me think of him.”

Of course.

Mathieu had told him the darker parts of Odalia’s history. She might have been rescued during the weeks following Katrina by cops, but she’d been through a lot. Taking care of her father, who’d died of infection, and fighting off the looters hadn’t been easy for a slip of a girl not yet a woman. Mathieu hadn’t elaborated on the point because he hadn’t needed to. Jacques could imagine the brutality Odalia had lived through. Which made the tattoo to commemorate her father make sense.

Rosie took over and had Odalia turn toward her so she could slather the skin with ointment and bandage the tattoo with saran wrap and medical tape.

All his reservations were gone. He needed Odalia alone.

* * * * *

Odalia glanced over her shoulder to make sure Jacques was still there. He’d been brooding and silent since he showed up at the shop. With each passing moment, her hope for what they could be dwindled.

The Bastille had just opened, and a few people milled around, not even playing yet. Odalia didn’t know if she could stand waiting around on pins and needles for Jacques to say or do something. What had changed since he’d left her at Mathieu’s?

“This way.” He took her hand and led her to one of the private rooms, decorated as a Victorian boudoir.

She stepped through the door and froze.

“What the…?” Odalia was familiar with the room. Not only had she played in it, but one of the local shops had even used it as a set for a shoot she’d done.

Standing lights augmented the halogens above to the point that the brightness hurt her eyes. A large white backdrop was attached to the ceiling and went all the way to the ground. The room was set up as if for a photo shoot. There was already a camera sitting on a tripod.

She glanced at Jacques, wanting an explanation.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t tell her what this was. He took her hand and led her to stand against the white backdrop.

Did he have some sort of shoot tonight? Was this a ploy to recreate the images they’d done before Christmas?

Jacques grasped the lapels of her leather jacket and pulled her closer. She was aware of the camera snapping, but that didn’t matter.

He kissed her brow, and maybe the camera flashed. Her attention narrowed to this man and the way he made her heart vibrate.

Jacques pushed her jacket off her shoulders, and it fell with a thud.

Two could play that game. She slid her hands against his pectorals and up over his shoulders, removing his jacket in turn. He moved with her, allowing her this. The lights flashed, but she ignored them at the flicker of a smile on his lips.

For that smile, she’d stay.

He grasped the straps of her tank top with one hand and pulled his knife from his pocket. Knife play was an out-of-bounds sport for many people, but not Odalia.

He wouldn’t dare…

Jacques set the blade against the fabric and pulled. It slid through her bra strap and the ribbed shirt as if they were butter. She gaped at the man, too shocked to be irritated. His grin widened, and he grasped the neck of her now-ruined shirt. The blade followed, and he split the material straight down the middle.

Had he just—?

He had.

Odalia laughed. Perhaps it was the potent danger of this man and the flash of his teeth, the ease with which he took control without a word. He grasped the hanging shreds of her shirt and pulled her forward with his free hand. She splayed her palms against his chest, loving the hardness of his body, and lifted up, meeting him with a kiss.

The sensual dance continued as their lips touched, suckling, nipping, licking.

Somehow she got his shirt and bunched it under his armpits.

Jacques raised an eyebrow, but their unspoken agreement to keep silent kept him from chastising her. Instead, he pursed his lips and drew the shirt up over his head, discarding it like he had his jacket, along with the knife.

He grasped one side of her tank top and spun her in place so that her back was to his front. His hands coasted down her shoulders, over her breasts, and parted the ruined shirt. She let him slide it off and glanced over her shoulder.

What game is he playing?

Jacques ignored her silent questions and splayed his hands against her stomach. He pressed his palms against her abdominals, and she reached behind her, looping her arms around his neck, reveling in the skin-to-skin contact.

He fumbled with the tab on her shorts but managed to get it and the zipper open. Instead of shoving the denim off, he slowed the garment’s fall, going to a knee and caressing her outer leg all the way down. He did take care to avoid both the new tattoo and her ricochet wounds. He helped her toe out of her shoes until all she wore were a pair of cheeky cherry-print boy shorts and a now-ruined black bra.

Jacques turned her in place, his expression sober. Serious.

Facing her, he toed out of his boots and unfastened his jeans.

What is he doing?

He shed both jeans and underwear until he was nude. A dark-skinned god. Perfectly formed.