Safe Harbor (6 page)

* * * *

After they left, Tad turned to Sully, his face hard. Sully suspected the older man wanted to talk with him alone.

“Promise me, boy,” Tad said. “Promise me you’ll make the bastard pay.”

“I will.”

Tad leaned back and closed his eyes. “She never wears makeup.

Your idea?”

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“I didn’t want to shock you.”

He snorted. “Takes a lot more than that to shock me. I’m just glad she got out alive. I always worried that asshole would kill her.

Fucking mean son of a bitch. Damn bully. She really gonna live with you?”

“As long as she wants. You have my word.”

Tad arched an eyebrow at Sully. “She already know about you two?”

Sully laughed. “Yeah. We told her the basics. Needed to, don’t you think?” They hadn’t told Tad all the details of their pastimes, but he knew Sully and Mac had more than just an average relationship.

Tad slowly pulled himself up from the couch. “I suppose.” He started for the kitchenette to get plates. Sully stood to help him. “You know,” Tad said, “you two could be good for her, long term. Security.

Safety. Someone to rely on.”

Sully took several plates from him and laid them on the table.

“What are you getting at?”

He turned. “I’m just saying there’s something to be said for a girl having a couple of strong guys in her life.” His eyes twinkled. “If you get my drift.”

Sully was afraid he did, but he let the subject drop. Tad apparently felt content to leave his piece said at that.

* * * *

Clarisse stared out the window as Mac drove them to Dodecanese Boulevard and found a parking spot. It’d been years since she’d last visited the Sponge Docks. Much to her surprise, many of the restaurants and shops still bore the same names and signs and even merchandise, in some cases. He led her to Plaka’s where they placed their food order. Then, while they waited, they walked a few doors down to Hellas and bought several items for dessert from the Greek bakery there. He sat her in a booth and bought her a Coke. After he

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sat, he handed her two Tylenol.

“Take these, sweetie. You need them. You look like you’re hurting.”

She didn’t fight him, gratefully took them, and washed them down. “Thanks.”

He gently squeezed her hand. “Let us take care of you, okay?”

“I don’t think I can get used to having a slave, Mac.”

He grinned. “Well, don’t think of it that way, honey. Think of it as having a guy Friday.”

Clarisse glanced over at him, loving his friendly, easy smile and twinkling brown eyes.

Safe.

She glanced around before studying the table again. Her hair hung in curtains beside her face, which helped her feel a little more secure about her appearance in public. “I promise I’ll pull my weight. Please tell Sully I mean that.”

“Hey, honey, we don’t care. We told you we’ll figure something out.”

“I can get a job, at least part-time somewhere, to pay rent.”

“Clarisse.”

Her head snapped up at his firm tone, fear tensing her body.

He squeezed her hand again, his voice gentling. “Stop it. Don’t worry. It’s okay.”

She’d glimpsed a hint of Mac on the boat, the way he’d handled Sully.

In charge.

After she finished her Coke, they picked up their order from Plaka’s. Mac insisted on carrying everything, juggling the food to open the Jag’s door for her.

“Listen,” he said when she protested, “Sully’d kick my ass in a bad way, he catches me slacking. Unless I can’t do it, you don’t open your own doors, girlie.”

She blushed. “I’m not an invalid.”

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“Despite rumors to the contrary, I am a gentleman.” He grabbed her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. “And I take care of
my
lady.”

Another pleasant flood of heat raced to her face and down her body at the possessive tone in his voice. If only he wasn’t gay, she’d gladly be his lady. Meanwhile, she would be happily content to have him in this way, at least.

It didn’t matter. She had no intention of getting into another relationship for a long, long time. If ever.

A blue VW bug had parked next to them. Mac caught her looking at it. “What?”

“I’ve always loved those little cars. I’m going to save my money and buy me one in a few years. I wanted one, but Bryan hated them.

He bought me a Chevy, said it was practical.”

Mac studied the car. “Practical, huh?”

“Yeah. He despises foreign cars. His dad owned a Chevy dealership before he retired.” She stared at the car until he started the Jag. “Now I can get whatever the hell I want.” She laughed. “Well, I have to get whatever I can afford. But when I can afford one, I’m getting one.”

When they reached the nursing home, Clarisse checked and refreshed her makeup in the car before they returned to Uncle Tad’s room. They had a great dinner and a nice visit. By the time they left, Clarisse felt exhausted and close to collapse. At home, she bid the men good night, went straight to her room, and closed the door behind her.

* * * *

The men made sure Clarisse was sound asleep before they headed for their bedroom. Sully closed and locked their door, hooked his MP3 player to the stereo in their bedroom, and set it to a mix he liked to play to. He tweaked the volume up just a smidge.

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“Do I need to use a gag?” he asked Mac.

Mac had already stripped and replaced his silver necklace with his collar. He’d fetched the rattan punishment cane and knelt on the floor, head bowed, waiting for Sully. “No, Master,” he quietly replied.

“How many do you owe me?”

“Five for letting me wear shorts, Master. Then my outburst on the boat, talking back to you on the boat, and my outburst in her bedroom.”

Sully studied him. “It shocked both of us. I commend you for wanting to protect her. How many do you think I should give you?”

“Normally you give me twenty-five for talking back. So that would be seventy-five in addition to the five.”

Sully was glad Mac had bowed his head and couldn’t see his eyebrows arch in surprise. “Why that many? Explain your rationale.”

“I talked back. The outbursts are the same as talking back.”

“So you’re willing to take eighty strokes?”

“I will take as many as Master gives me.”

“What if I say I’m going to give you a hundred?”

“Then maybe we do need the gag.”

Sully picked up the cane and touched it to Mac’s exposed ass.

Mac didn’t flinch, didn’t tense. Sully knew he expected it to start at any time and was ready for it. “On the bed, ass over,” Sully softly commanded.

Mac immediately complied.

Sully waited, drawing it out. Then he quickly delivered eight viciously hard blows in rapid succession, harder than he would normally strike, impacts that immediately raised welts on Mac’s ass and came damn close to drawing blood.

Mac tensed, but he didn’t cry out.

Sully walked over to the dresser, picked up a bottle of cucumber lotion, poured some into his palm, then sat on the edge of the bed and lovingly applied it to Mac’s flesh.

“That’s all you’re getting.”

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“Thank you, Master.”

“Do you want to know why I gave you only eight?” He knew Mac wouldn’t ask, but he had to be curious. Usually when Sully told him he should give him a certain number, that was the number he finally delivered.

“Yes, Master. Please.”

Sully gently worked the lotion into Mac’s skin. “Five for the shorts. And five every day you decide to wear clothes at home, automatically, until you decide you should go naked again. One stroke for talking back, one for the outburst saying you’d go with her to Ohio without asking me first, one for the outburst in her bedroom.

Hard because you were willing to take a hundred for your actions.

Fast because I didn’t want to torture you.” He applied more lotion, feeling Mac relax under his hand as it soothed his flesh. “I’m proud of you for wanting to protect her. I just want you to be careful. You know I won’t let her get hurt. You have to trust me on this. She’s not Betsy.”

“I know, Master. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” He capped the bottle. “Done.”

Mac gingerly rolled over, wincing a little but not complaining. He would never complain. He never had complained.

Mac also never extracted payback for punishment while on the boat. Sully had anticipated he might and was willing to take it if he dealt it, but Mac’s enjoyment of his limited top time came mostly in the form of sexual enjoyment, not sadism.

Sully used the bathroom, turned their stereo and lights off, and settled into bed with Mac. Not many things drove Mac to tears outside of a scene. Not even punishment, usually. That night, Sully sensed Mac needed more than a Master.

He needed his lover and friend.

Sully wrapped his arms around Mac. “Let it out, Brant,” he ordered. “Don’t hold it in.”

At first Mac tensed, and then he relaxed against Sully as his tears

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flowed.

“She’s not Betsy,” he whispered in Mac’s ear. “Keep saying that to yourself. She’s not Betsy, and she’s not going to die. We won’t let that happen.”

Mac clutched Sully, crying, shaking with the force of his anguish.

“Fuck, Sul. He beat her to a pulp.”

Sully knew how difficult it had been for Mac, keeping his emotions in check around Clarisse all day. He knew better than anyone how hard this was on Mac, seeing her bruised and battered, helping her with the makeup, trying to maintain appearances in front of Tad.

After twenty minutes, he finally cried himself to sleep. Sully closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to his forehead. If someone had told him years ago that he’d love this man the way he did, he’d have decked them. People asked how he could explore complex and fluid gender roles in relationships in his books in such a realistic way. It was easy for him.

He lived it.

* * * *

The nightmare played out the same every time. Knowing it was a dream didn’t help Mac escape it. He’d talked to Betsy earlier that day, confirmed he’d be by at six to help her move. Her husband was going out of town for the weekend on a fishing trip to the Keys with a buddy of his. By the time the asshole returned late Sunday, Betsy would be safe at Mac’s apartment.

When he arrived at five to six, the lights were all off but her car sat in the driveway.

He tried the door, found it locked.

Fear sent his heart racing as he tried calling her, heard the phone ring counterpoint somewhere inside. Then he tried her cell.

He faintly heard it ringing through the door too.

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Shit.

He pounded on the door. “Bets! Open up, honey. You’re scaring me!”

He circled the house. All the blinds were drawn and the back gate locked. Highly unusual.

Hoping he was wrong, that it would prove to be a false alarm, he returned to the front door, called 911, and told them he was breaking down the door.

Despite the dispatcher advising him to wait, Mac kicked the door in and screamed when he found Betsy face down on the living room floor in a puddle of blood.

He yelled at the dispatcher to send an ambulance and then checked her pulse. Jesus, she was still breathing.

Barely.

She moaned.

“Oh, honey,” he cried. “Please hang on! Bets, you gotta hang on, they’re coming.” It looked as if someone had taken a baseball bat to her, her face unrecognizable, her hair matted with blood, the house ripped apart.

Unlike every other dream he’d had reliving that horrible afternoon, tonight when he cradled her in his arms, she opened her eyes. It wasn’t Betsy’s brown eyes, but Clarisse’s blue ones.

* * * *

Sully felt Mac startle awake. He’d lain there unable to sleep, expecting this. It’d been months since Mac’s last nightmare about Betsy. He’d suspected Clarisse’s unexpected entry into their lives might trigger a return of Mac’s flashbacks. Sully wrapped his arms around his lover as the other man started crying.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Sully soothed. “Let it out.”

Mac eventually cried himself back to sleep, which finally allowed Sully to relax and close his eyes. Mac never dreamed it twice and

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always slept the rest of the night after waking up. They both had their demons.

His appeared some nights in the form of a woman, who looked like she wasn’t even legal drinking age, pulling a 9mm semiautomatic on him during the drug raid and shooting him in the gut before he blew out the back of her skull. Jason shot and killed her boyfriend, but not until after the guy put a bullet in Sully’s leg. Had Sully not pulled the trigger, the woman’s next shot likely would have killed him.

He never felt guilty about killing her, because she’d also been carrying a .38 in her purse, along with more than three grand worth of crack. His only choice had been to shoot. That still didn’t stop the dreams.

Only the feel of Mac’s body in his arms did that.

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