TATE had just uttered his last command to James when his cell phone vibrated against his side. Out of habit, he glanced down quickly to pull out the phone enough so he could identify the incoming caller, fully intending to hit ignore.
He swore under his breath before glancing back up to where James had administered the second lash of the flogger. This was an important call but it had to come now of all times? Tabitha Markham had strung him along for weeks over whether she was going to transfer her late husband’s portfolio—her inheritance—to Tate’s firm and he was supposed to have a firm commitment from her any moment. Apparently she’d chosen now to inform him of her decision.
This was going to have to be quick.
He yanked up the phone, glanced at Chessy, who was facing away from him, and then uttered a crisp hello.
“Tate? Where are you? I can’t hear you.”
Tabitha’s voice was strident in his ear. He wasn’t in the mood to chitchat. He just wanted her decision so he could get back to much more important matters. Like his wife and salvaging their marriage.
He walked a few steps away toward the corner where things were a little quieter and he could also keep an eye on Chessy.
“Can you hear me now?” he asked.
“Yes, much better. I called you because I have some concerns. You’ve been very hard to get in touch with lately and as my financial advisor, I’d require that I be able to get in contact with you at all times.”
Tate’s brow furrowed and he turned away from Chessy and James, wanting to put his fist through the wall.
“I can assure you that I am available at all times for my clients,” he said tersely.
“Well that remains to be seen, does it not? If you aren’t available before I become your client it hardly seems likely that you’ll be available once you win me over.”
Tate’s fingers curled impatiently and he brought one hand up to cover his other ear so he could hear her more clearly.
“Look, either you want me to handle your portfolio or you don’t,” he said bluntly. “I can’t talk right now because I’m out with my wife and this is our personal time. If you’d like to discuss the matter further, I encourage you to contact me during business hours on Monday.”
A cry cracked through the air, freezing the blood in Tate’s veins.
“Rain. Rain!” he heard Chessy scream hoarsely.
He dropped the phone and whirled in the direction of her scream. When he saw tears coursing down her cheeks and James’s hands curled around her hips he broke into a run, but before he could get there, Damon and two of his security men knocked James away. Tate lunged for James.
“What the hell did you do to her, you son of a bitch?” Tate yelled.
He punched the other man in the jaw, sending him reeling, and then he turned, his heart in his throat to see Damon unfastening the last of Chessy’s bonds. Chessy sagged onto the floor, curling herself into a tight ball as tears ran unchecked down her face.
Three sets of accusing eyes pinned him as he knelt down where Chessy lay sobbing.
They all looked at him, condemnation in their eyes. He’d done the unforgivable. He’d broken the unspoken rule that all Dominants lived by. He hadn’t protected his submissive.
“What the hell happened?” Tate demanded.
Damon gave him a look of pure disgust. “Shouldn’t you know? Where the hell were you when she was screaming her safe word? How could you have done this, Tate? This … This is unforgivable. I think it’s safe to say you’re done here.”
Tate tentatively reached for Chessy, his hand over her icy cold skin in an effort to reassure himself that she was all right. Of course she wasn’t all right.
She shrank away, visibly recoiling from his touch.
“Don’t touch me,” she said in a voice hoarse from crying. And screaming.
Damon barked an order to one of the bystanders to bring a blanket. Tate was gutted by the utter devastation in Chessy’s eyes. Worse was the fear that gripped him. He’d fucked up. Had done the unforgivable as Damon had accused. There wouldn’t be—and shouldn’t be—forgiveness for not ensuring his wife was safe every second of their time at The House.
The blanket was delivered and when Tate tried to wrap it around her, she drew sharply away as she’d done just moments earlier. Damon took the blanket, gently arranging it around Chessy’s huddled body. Then he simply looped his arms underneath her slight form and stood from his squatting position, cradling her against his chest.
“It will be all right, Chessy,” Damon said quietly. “Let me take you into my office where it’s private. I’ll have your clothes brought down so you can dress. Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
She began to quietly weep once more, each tear like a dagger to Tate’s heart.
Ignoring Tate, Damon carried her swiftly from the common room and Tate followed behind, feeling the stares of the entire room as they gazed at him in disgust.
Safe, sane, consensual. He’d managed to single-handedly violate all three hallmarks of the Dominant/submissive lifestyle. And now his beautiful wife had paid for his mistake. Just another in the dozens of times he’d failed her in their five-year marriage. Apparently he could do nothing right when it came to her, which made no sense given how much he loved her.
Damon carried Chessy down the stairs and then shouldered his way into his office and gently set her down on the leather sofa, pulling the ends of the blanket around her to shield her nudity. Her shoes had fallen off at some point and she looked fragile barefoot with only a blanket and her stockings to cover her body.
Tate went to his knees in front of the couch and tried to gather her hands in his, but she withdrew them, knotting them into fists in her lap so he couldn’t grasp them. She wouldn’t even meet his gaze but then he could hardly blame her.
“Chessy, I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “God, I’m sorry. I only stepped away a few seconds to answer a phone call. I’d already ended it when I heard you say your safe word.”
At that she met his gaze, her eyes cold enough to freeze an inferno. “So that’s what you were doing while I was being raped by the man you chose to dominate me? Taking a goddamn client call?”
Her words paralyzed him. The depth of his betrayal hadn’t truly sunken in until now. He’d stood by while a man hand-picked by him to be intimate with his wife had hurt her.
“I’m partly to blame,” Damon said quietly from just a few feet away from the sofa. “I gave Tate the names of several men I thought were good choices. There was nothing in the past to indicate James’s behavior tonight. The safety of my members—all of my members—is my top priority and I failed you tonight.”
Chessy shook her head vigorously. “No,” she said vehemently. “You aren’t to blame, Damon, and I won’t allow you to take any part of it. The person at fault here is me for trusting my husband to put me first in his priorities. For believing his promises that he’d change. I should have never allowed myself to be involved in this situation, and you can be assured I won’t ever again.”
Tate couldn’t breathe. A hand clutched mercilessly at his throat and squeezed until he was lightheaded from oxygen deprivation. Her words sounded so … final. They were no less than he deserved and yet panic still shattered his nerves. His life without Chessy? Unthinkable.
A knock sounded and a moment later, Damon returned with Chessy’s clothing. She stared at the items, distaste in her wounded eyes. They were evidently a reminder that Tate had arranged this evening when she wanted to do nothing but forget.
Her lips trembled and she closed her eyes, her brow knitted in an effort to regain her composure.
“Tell me what you want to do, Chessy,” Damon said in a gentle voice. “I’ll have a car drive you wherever you want to go. Is there someone you’d like me to call for you?”
Tate bristled and was near to exploding as he whirled to confront Damon. “I will bring my wife home,” he said icily.
“I don’t recall consulting you in the matter,” Damon said. “You lost that option when you abdicated your responsibility as Chessy’s Dominant and allowed her to come to harm.”
Tate had no response to that, which only served to piss him off even more. His hands shook violently. He was rattled to his very core when he usually met each situation with calm and decisiveness.
“I’ll ride home with Tate,” Chessy said so softly Tate wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.
He was afraid to hope or read too much into her statement. She still wouldn’t look at him. As if she couldn’t bear the sight of him.
“Let me help you dress, baby,” Tate said gently. “Don’t worry about your shoes. I’ll carry you out to the car.”
She shook her head. “I can get dressed on my own. Just leave me be for a few minutes. I’ll come out when I’m done.”
Tate dug in his heels. “I need to make sure you’re all right and I need to see for myself just what that bastard did.”
“Do you care?” she threw out in a bitter tone.
His jaw clenched. “Of course I care. Goddamn it, Chessy.”
She waved her hand like she just wanted it over with.
“I’ll wait outside,” Damon said, leaving unsaid the fact that he’d wait to see if Chessy changed her mind about wanting him to see to her ride from The House. But it was implied in his tone.
As soon as Damon left the room, Chessy allowed the blanket to fall loosely away but hunched forward protectively as if she didn’t want Tate to see her. Tate immediately turned her on the sofa, swearing softly when he saw the welts on her back. There were already bruises forming at her hips where the asshole’s hands had gripped her.
“How far did he take things?” Tate asked hoarsely.
She shrugged indifferently. “Far enough.”
He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Chessy pinned him with the weight of her stare, her eyes accusing and utterly devastated. “Oh, I’m sorry, Tate. Have I annoyed you? How selfish of me that I’m not giving you my full attention.”
The heavy sarcasm in her voice made his heart sink. Self-loathing filled him, brimming in his heart until hatred was a living, breathing emotion in his soul. He was utterly sick at heart, knowing full well that he didn’t deserve forgiveness for what he’d done. For what he’d allowed to happen to her.
She got up, moving away from him to dress. She yanked on her clothing without care and then glanced down in disgust at the formfitting dress.
“I’m ready to go,” she said.
“Chess, are you sure I don’t need to take you to the hospital?” Tate asked uneasily. “How badly did he hurt you?”
Her gaze found his and she stared unflinchingly at him. “Not nearly as much as you have.”