Twice Shy (The Restraint Series) (3 page)

Read Twice Shy (The Restraint Series) Online

Authors: Jill C Flanagan,Jill Christie

Tags: #domme, #firefighter, #Rubenesque, #Betrayal, #Revenge, #small town, #curvy women, #Survivalists, #Bdsm, #lost love, #bbw, #D/s, #Dominatrix

BOOK: Twice Shy (The Restraint Series)
5.28Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Bren plops down beside me and spoons me. Both of us are sated. We have a couple of hours before his mom gets home from school.

We skipped classes today for this. To have privacy together.

The rush I get from controlling him is almost better than the orgasm he gave me with his hand.

Fast-forward to the next day.

Brendan walks into the Saloon, where I’m cleaning, like I do every morning before school. I look up and smile at him. He smiles back, but there’s a reticence to it.

He had football practice to go to after we made love, and I haven’t seen him since we kissed and hugged goodbye.

I set down the mop and go over to hug him. His hug is the same as always. Warm, strong, safe.

He loosens his embrace, but is still close enough that warm air brushes my ear. “It’s tonight.”

“Why? Why do you feel the need to fit in with their stupid group?”

He lets go of me and turns away. “I thought I’d let you know so you don’t think I’m avoiding you.” He turns back and makes eye contact. There’s a weird vibe with it, but I could be oversensitive because of what happened between us. “I love you, Cee.”

I feel relieved. I reply, “Love you always, B.”

It’s not the first time we’ve said it. Does it mean more now?

Fast-forward again.

I’m in a car with Brendan’s other best friend, Barton Ellis. The fact that he is an Ellis gives him a sense of entitlement as half the buildings in town are named after them. He is also a member of the Inner Circle, aka the IC. The group of guys Brendan’s being initiated into tonight. Bart has never taken to me, nor me to him. We are allies only when it comes to Bren.

I say, “I thought the initiation was just for the IC.”

“It goes down like this–there’s five guys getting initiated, to replace the ones graduating next month. We park the cars around the initiation circle with the headlights on. He can’t see you. But there’s one witness who is...” Bart makes finger quotes. It looks strange on him as I wasn’t sure before this moment he had the ability to punctuate. “‘Close’ to the Inner Circle pledge. They have to witness it. You were chosen.”

I assume it’s because Bart is in the IC. He would have probably been the choice if not.

Bart pulls up around the circle. Gives me a don’t-fuck-with-me look. “Stacy, I swear, no matter what, don’t make a fuckin’ sound. He won’t get in if he finds out you’re here. And then where will he be?”

Better off, I think. But it’s not what Brendan wants. He became a football player to become a member of the Inner Circle. He has always wanted to be a part of the IC. Another thing his dad was. Football player and all-around cool guy. Which is not how I see Bren. But I nod.

Bart gets out of the car. I see the guys, one of them Bren. I’m thankful it’s warmer than usual for May, because they’re naked except for...

And then I realize what Brendan’s wearing. My underwear. The ones I was wearing last night. And he’s got safety pins in them, so they don’t fall off.

My face feels red. A sick wash comes up the back of my throat. I swallow to keep it and the feelings down.

I know now I’ve been set up. Bart has to be enjoying this. This is some fucked-up Carrie scene, but without the blood.

I should get out of the car. I shouldn’t care Brendan won’t get initiated. The foreboding feeling is getting stronger.

A voice sounds. I don’t know whose it is. It doesn’t matter. “Men, you are pledging tonight. You each entered the Dogfight and are wearing the dog’s panties.”

I don’t know if I can keep from throwing up. I breathe through my nose and keep my mouth clamped. I just want to get out of the car and run. Go to the sanctuary of Sarge’s place. I’m suddenly relieved I obeyed Sarge and didn’t tell anyone, including Bren, I’m staying there. I kept it sacrosanct.

“You have the panties of who you’ve fucked and the committee has voted on who wins the Dogfight. The winner is... Tommo!”

Tommo. Brendan Thomas.

Chapter Three

T
he memories, once called, had become a mindworm. She’d managed to avoid replaying the worst part of that night. Stacy finally gave in to her insecurities and crawled in with West around three in the morning.

West waking her up at eight in the morning did not go over well. “Are you insane?”

“The complimentary breakfast food is not of high quality after 8:30 in the morning.”

Stacy buried her face underneath the pillow and groaned. She loved West, but he was very particular about food. “You go. I’ll have a protein bar.”

West harumphed, and then continued in his best saccharine-flavored voice, “Lovey, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Stacy sailed her pillow at him, which he dodged because her aim sucked. West smiled. “Now, see? You’re awake now. Mission accomplished.”

She sat up against the headboard and let her eyes adjust to being open. She patted the bed and West took her invitation and sat with her.

She said, “You’re not used to small-town living. At breakfast, there’s a possibility there will be staff from town, people I might know. Or who might know me. And then Mary will know I’m here. Word spreads in a small town like wildfire. Especially...”

West nodded and finished for her, “Especially since you’re a part of town folklore, the way you disappeared.”

Stacy breathed a sigh of relief. He understood and wasn’t going to make her go have a proper breakfast. West was a big proponent of nutritious eating, a bit of a Californian stereotype. He was into whole foods and was a quasi-vegetarian. Which meant he and Tim ate fish and very occasionally other meats, but hardly ever beef. Eight years ago, coming from the place where beef was the only meat, that was another shock. She smiled, thinking of what a food fascist he was back then. Stacy had thought it was because of her weight. Having been made fun of most of her life, she was hypersensitive and had food issues. But along the way she came to understand West cared about health, not size.

As if he could read her mind he asked, “So what would you like?”

Eloquently, Stacy gave a “Huh?”

“If you think a protein bar will suffice for breakfast, you are mistaken. I will bring breakfast up to you.”

Stacy decided not argue, but whispered “food fascist” under her breath.

Just before the door clicked shut, West said, “I heard that, lovey.”

“Sorry!” Stacy yelled. Shit, now he’s going to bring up yoghurt. Probably plain. Without fruit.

West was in a forgiving mood. He even brought bacon. He was probably feeling sorry for her because of the day ahead. Stacy was trying not to think about it.

Savoring the fatty goodness, Stacy thought about the task ahead. The Saloon opened at eleven-thirty, and Mary would be there first thing. If her mom hadn’t changed her tune, Saturday was drunken stupor night. Her tips from last night would be long gone. It was Saturday, and there was partying to be done.

West, the prescient bastard, said, “You thinking about how you’re going to approach your mom?”

“Trying not to. She’s not all bad. I hope you know that, West.”

West thinned his lips and gave her his ‘Dad’ look: “how many times do I have to tell you?” His ‘Sir’ look was more “obey or suffer the consequences”. Similar, but coming from different contexts. Tim got the second, Stacy got the first.

West sighed, exasperated. “She was bad enough.”

“But you’re only getting one side of the story. She wasn’t a great mom, but she didn’t beat me.”

Another harumph, and then West said in a gentler voice, “You can still be a terrible mother without beating. You know this, lovey. We’ve talked about it. I thought you’d moved the blame away from yourself.”

Stacy felt herself tearing up. “It’s this fucking place, West. I feel like I’m being haunted by the Stacy of Cutters Creek past.”

West hugged her. “We can go home right now and not do this. We’ve talked about it. Tim and I can get you a ghosted ID. The best papers money can buy. Or I can go and confront her myself and you stay here.”

Stacy shook her head, unable to speak or she’d cry. West brought her deeper into his arms, rubbing little circles on her back to pacify her.

“I hate you hurting, lovey. If I could take it away, I would. Let me take it away. We can leave. This was a bad idea.”

It was so tempting to do that. Stacy had never thought she would have to come back here. She regained some of her composure and pulled away enough to look West in the eye. “No. I’m just having a bit of a weak moment. I need to do this. You know that.” And I couldn’t do this without you. I wouldn’t be strong if it weren’t for you and Tim.

West didn’t look like he agreed, but there wasn’t any argument from him. “Sarge said to be there at ten. Mary apparently gets there at about 10:30.”

By the time they showered and both talked to Tim, Stacy was bolstered and ready to go. She was paranoid enough to convince West to take the side exit out of the building.

The Saloon was only a couple of minutes away, like everything else in Cutters Creek. When she passed through the old swinging doors, the stale beer aroma flooded her nose. The place had been cleaned and the terry-cloth table covers had been removed and replaced with clean ones. Other than that, the place looked exactly the same.

Rough-hewn wood with knots and holes paneled the walls. Nicotine and varnish gave the walls a honey-warm patina. The floor was stained dark brown and had scuff marks from boots and moved furniture. Posters and stolen highway signs dotted the bar. The theme continued, signs displaying beer names long forgotten lying collage-like behind the bar itself.

The bar had hardly changed. Logically, it wasn’t surprising, but emotionally it felt wrong somehow.

Tim echoed her thoughts. “Sarge, do you think you could bring this place into at least the late twentieth century? I haven’t been in this place for over twenty years and I don’t think anything has changed.”

Sarge made a noncommittal noise from his usual place on a stool to the side of the bar. He sipped a coffee, probably his fifth or sixth of the day. Sarge wasn’t much for sleeping and averaged at least one coffee per hour.

West grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. Stacy asked, “Where do you want us to wait so she doesn’t see me?”

Sarge didn’t seem very talkative this morning, which wasn’t unusual. He pointed to the access door to the upstairs living quarters.

Stacy nodded, not feeling particularly chatty herself. Acid coated her stomach and she felt bile doing the backwash thing up her throat.

West put a calming hand on her back. “He’ll text us when she gets here.”

The next fifteen minutes did not go quickly. Confidence and self-assuredness were the cornerstone attributes of a good Domme. She was not in possession of those traits at the moment.

Once this was over, she could reclaim herself. It was this town. It was toxic. She wished she had taken West up on his offer this morning. Her only option was take West’s tongue-in-cheek advice and ‘fake it ’til you make it’. It felt false, but although Stacy believed in honesty, her belief in surviving was greater.

She needed to channel Miss S to pull this off with Mary. She looked inward and found her Domme. A moment or two passed and it didn’t feel like she was faking Mistress S. Perhaps she wasn’t.

Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Mary was here.

Chapter Four

A
fter a minor altercation with West which she told him his presence during the confrontation would only complicate matters, they quietly sneaked down the stairs. She had lost the argument, but he had reluctantly agreed to stay in the background. Here was hoping he succeeded. Mary could muddy the issue like nobody’s business.

West was protective of those he loved. When she locked eyes with him, she could see the crease in his brow ease once he noticed she had retrieved her head from her ass.

As she opened the access door, she heard Sarge’s rumble, and Mary’s flirty laughter. It was one talent she had always envied.

The voices drifted from the back in Sarge’s office-cum-storage room with a desk. The voices were pleasant. Although Sarge never had liked the way Mary parented Stacy, he seemed to be able to separate that relationship from his everyday dealings with her mother.

Stacy was grateful to Sarge for so many things, it seemed wrong to begrudge him his usually cordial relationship with Mary. After all, it was hard to keep bar staff. And the elder Ms. Jones was a good worker if kept in line. Sarge had plenty of experience keeping people in line.

Stacy did sometimes begrudge him. The flip side was Sarge had kept Stacy’s whereabouts a secret for eight years. Mary knew this, and to Stacy’s knowledge, had not asked for her whereabouts.

She decided to make her ambush casual, as though showing up here was an everyday occurrence. West put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed as he sat down on one of the stools at the bar.

Moving behind the bar to the open office door, she looked in and saw Mary propped against a stack of crates, sipping a beer. Hopefully it was only the first of the day. Sarge sat behind the desk, leaning back casually, but his neck muscles were corded and his eyes watchful.

As she leaned against the doorframe, her curvy size-sixteen body blocked Mary’s escape route. Out of the corner of her eye, she felt Sarge turn his gaze on her. Mary looked at her, smiled. “We’re not open yet, hun.” She half-stood, craning her neck. “Sorry, I thought I locked the main door behind me after I came in. Can I help you with something?” She’d used her flirty and charming voice. She hadn’t recognized Stacy. It hurt. Using her cool head, Stacy knew Mary had written her off years ago, and didn’t expect to see her daughter ever again. Plus, she’d changed a great deal in eight years. Honed the curves in her figure so she had a waist now. Tamed her unruly strawberry blonde hair. Found some fashion sense, albeit retro.

“Hi, Mom.”

Mary’s pleasant visage changed. She squinted, took Stacy in from top to bottom, and then focused in on her again. She stood, walked over and looked up into her face. Her voice hardened. “So the ungrateful brat comes home after five years. Sarge tole me you were all right and he’s a man of his word. You couldn’t of called? Written?” Mary turned around and flounced back to her beer and seat.

Other books

Ana Seymour by Father for Keeps
Serial by John Lutz
The Fixes by Owen Matthews
Murder on the Mind by LL Bartlett
She of the Mountains by Vivek Shraya
Lone Lake Killer by Maxwell, Ian