The Gate (Dark Path Series) (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

The lighting in the hospital hallway hurt Erika’s eyes. She remembered it being much the same when she came to visit her dying mother ten years ago. Here she was again with another parent whose prognosis was dim.

Her father lay in a hospital bed, unconscious. When the EMTs arrived at the house, the situation was already dire. He’d stopped breathing from a seizure brought on by a stroke. But they’d been able to get him breathing again. By the time he was rushed to the hospital, the doctors couldn’t revive him. He was still breathing, but his heart was the main concern. He might have suffered a mini-stroke or two sometime during the year but didn’t realize it. The news crippled her. Patty had to pull her away. Chris wanted her to sit down, but she refused to talk to him, ending up pacing in front of her father’s room.

Guilt chipped away at her. First, for not noticing the signs with his fatigue, complaints of indigestion, and not sleeping well. Second, because she was a mess, afraid any moment she would break down in tears. If she lost her dad, she would be alone. He was the one person she counted on. If he died, she would have no one to turn to for support, not even Chris, who she once trusted but now….

Her mind spun. She was at a loss on how to feel or think.

“Oh God,” she moaned. Her lower back ached, and every time she walked, her inner thighs rubbed together, chafing. Her skin was sticky, hot, her clothes smothering her. If her father hadn’t gotten sick, she would have still been with Chris, screwing one another all over her apartment.

She closed her eyes as her tears built. How could she explain her betrayal to Max? She couldn’t keep it from him. He would find out eventually. She needed to tell him before the guilt ate her alive.

Opening her eyes, she lifted her head. Chris’s voice carried down the hall. He spoke to a doctor for a minute then nodded, patting the man’s arm. He came over to her.

She didn’t back away or tell him to leave her alone. She stared down at the floor, blinking away tears.

“Hey you,” he murmured, cupping her nape.

She scrunched up her shoulders, but he kept his fingers anchored.

“What did the doctor say?” She wiped her dripping nose with the back of her hand.

“Roger’s stabilized. They have him on oxygen. They’re going to watch him overnight. If he can get past the next twelve hours, he should be okay.”

“What does that mean? He’ll wake up and then go home?”

“We’ll see. Come here, baby, let me hold you.” He embraced her in a hug.

There was no fight left in her. She rested her cheek on his chest, sniffing. “I hate being called—” She hiccupped, thoughts of Max rushing over her. She needed to hear his voice, to see him.

“What was that?” Chris brushed a finger under her eye, catching a tear.

Spotting her purse on the floor, she bent to grab it. Before she pulled out her phone, he took her hand, grimacing when he inspected the inside of her wrists.

“Shit, I can’t believe I—”

She held her palm to his face. “Don’t say it. I can’t deal with you right now and what you did to me—”

“What I did to you? What you mean is what we did
together
. I admit I was angry, jealous, and started out aggressive. But you liked it. You were coming all over my hand, begging me to fuck you,” he whispered through clenched teeth.

She saw red—a first for her—and slapped him across the face.

“I can’t believe you hit me,” he said in a low growl, rubbing his reddened cheek.

“I told you
no
, but you didn’t listen. You wouldn’t let me go even though I asked you to.” She shook, fuming with rage. “You forced yourself on me regardless of how I responded to you.” She covered her mouth, stunned by what she had admitted.

The irate look in his eyes vanished, a small smile appearing on his lips. He traced his cheek where she struck him. “Bingo. Now we’re even.”

“What?” She wanted to pull out her hair.

“You’ve marked me as I marked you.” He contemplated her hands then her face. “You should go to the bathroom, look at yourself in the mirror. I’ll stay here with Patty and Roger while you do. Then when you’ve controlled yourself, we can talk about the next few days and our future together.”

If she wasn’t so drained, she would continue arguing with him, but she was physically and emotionally exhausted. She didn’t have the strength to slap him again if he harped on about their moment of unexpected passion.

Without another word, she walked to the bathrooms. Grabbing paper towels, she wet them to clean between her legs and to erase the evidence of her arousal. She caught her reflection in the mirror. She covered her mouth, appalled, the paper towels plummeting to the sink. One side of her throat had a quarter-size purple bruise, her skin scraped by something rough. It must be from the traces of Chris’s stubble when he sucked her neck. She took off her coat. Her blouse was half buttoned, her skirt wrinkled. The skin around her wrists was inflamed with obvious handprints from when he imprisoned her. The bruising there was intensified from the old marks because of the cuffs and other bondage devices Max had used on her. Her eyes were bloodshot, her lips raw and puffy. She looked like she had been in a fight or had a recent bout of violent sex.

Max would know the marks weren’t his. She could go a few days or even a week without seeing him, using her father as an excuse, but he wouldn’t let her stay away for long. Even when the marks faded, the ones on her heart would remain. She needed to tell him what happened between her and Chris before he learned the truth.

She took out her phone. There were two texts and one phone message from Max. He expected to see her tonight. If she didn’t call back, he would grow more concerned or upset, thinking she’d blown him off to be with Chris when she’d promised she wouldn’t be alone with him.

Her cell rang. Max, calling again. She tapped the side of the phone in a nervous beat.
Answer or ignore him?
Whatever way she decided, it wouldn’t go well for her.

She answered, allowing her tears to fall unchecked down her cheeks. “Hello Max, something horrible has happened. I need to see you.”

***

Max was on his third glass of wine when the knock on the door came. He’d planned on having something stronger, like a scotch after the demanding day of endless meetings and phone calls, but after talking to Erika, he deferred to the wine.

Opening the door, he waited for her to fall into his arms, so he could comfort her in her time of need. She stood there, her mouth trembling, her eyes swollen and red. She looked horrible. Something inside him cracked.

“Oh my precious girl, I’m so sorry.” Setting the glass on the side table, he embraced her, but she remained stiff. “Did something else happen to your father on your way over?” he asked gently, choosing his wording with care. He hoped she didn’t tell him Roger had died on her way to see him.

Shaking her head, she broke away from him and walked inside. He shut the door, ready to hold her again, but she took the glass of wine, downing it. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. A stain ran across her cheek.

He reached out to wipe it away, but she turned, walking to the coffee table to refill the glass. She gulped that one just like the first.

More worry set in. This was unlike his Erika. Before him was a woman who appeared to have sustained a horrible trauma. She hadn’t acted so rattled when he whipped her the first time.

“Slow down. You’ll make yourself sick,” he commanded, going to her.

She stepped away from him, moving near the edge of the couch. Again, another oddity on her behalf that warned caution.

“I’m already sick.” Her voice cracked. “So it doesn’t matter if I get drunk and end up passed out on top of it.” She poured more wine.

“Then you should pour me some, too.” He held his own glass out. “Drinking alone is never fun.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never drunk alone before.” The wine sloshed over the rim of his glass landing on the rug.

Paying no mind to the spill, he grabbed her wrist. She winced, crying out as she tried pulling out of his grasp.

“What’s the matter? Did you—” He inspected the fresh bruising on her wrist. “What the hell?”

“Let me go.” She twisted her arm away from him.

He released her, stupefied by what he’d seen. The last time they’d been together, he’d tied her arms behind her back, but the marks left were minimal. Something wasn’t right. He planned on getting to the bottom of it.

“Care to explain where you got those bruises from? I didn’t put them on you.” A chill planted deep in his stomach. What if she’d gone to another for bondage play?

“How about you answer me first? Why did you rush out from our lunch? Was your emergency taken care of?” she asked in a near waspish tone.

The chill transformed into numbness. No woman had ever used such a tone with him, not even Catherine. He gripped his glass tighter to stop from snapping back. In light of the recent events with her father, he would abstain from flying off the handle.

“The emergency was Catherine. She and her…lover were having some problems. I helped them work it out. She’s taking an extended leave from The Gate to travel with him for the holidays.”

“Her lover or her master?”

“I guess you could say her master. They’ve been in a committed relationship for years.” He sat down, waiting for her to join him, but she remained standing, drinking her wine.

“She enjoys being mastered and told what to do? She doesn’t seem the type.” She paced in front of him.

“It’s not as strange as it sounds. Many men and women in the S&M community dedicate their lives to one another. They welcome the person they chose as their master to have control over them. Some even give up their lives to service another and be their willing slaves, allowing the domination. In a way, it’s like marriage.” He smiled, liking the analogy.

“You would say that.” She stared into her half empty glass. “I-if we continue with one another, is that something you would want of me in the future? To become your slave, to welcome you as my master, so you can do whatever you want to me?”

The air rushed out of him. He wasn’t expecting this line of questioning. What he wanted to do was pull her onto his lap and hold her, listen to her talk about her father while he comforted her. Tonight, he wanted to be gentle, giving her the peace she must desperately need.

“I can’t say if I want our relationship to progress to that level. It takes a lot of understanding and a deep bond that’s two-sided. I’ve never come close to having that with another woman before, but—”

“You could have it with me?” Tears sprung into her eyes. When they fell down her cheeks, she didn’t wipe them away. She started wheezing.

Afraid she was having a panic attack, he jumped up from the couch, taking her in his arms. She shook her head, fisting her hands on his chest, gulping in air. He caught her tears with his tongue, swiping over her cheeks.

With a sigh, she clung to the front of his shirt. His mouth moved down, nipping her lips then her chin. She whispered his name in longing, and he shuddered.

I would be her willing slave.
He shut down the thought before it developed into something he wasn’t ready to acknowledge yet. Cupping the back of her head, he kissed her. She responded, and he groaned, moving his hand up to run over her face, along the line of her neck he loved to suck and lick. Pulling her scarf away, he unbuttoned her coat.

She thrust him away.

His shin banged into the table, and he cursed. “Why did you do that?”

Hunching over, her arms at her sides, she started crying again. “You’re going to end up hating me.”

“You have me at a loss here.” He held his hands out to her almost in a pleading gesture.

“The reason I came to see you isn’t because I want your sympathy because of my father possibly…dying.” She coughed, hiding her face in her shoulder. “I have to tell you something horrible I did. It’s eating me up. If I don’t tell you now, I’ll go insane.”

“What have you done that would make me hate you?” Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that bad. She didn’t have it in her to hurt someone on purpose.

Removing her coat and scarf, she dropped them to the floor. She brushed her hair away from her shoulders. The underside of her chin near the line of her neck he adored so much was riddled with red marks. He caught sight of a round purple bruise.

“Is that—?”

“It’s a hickey. And not from you.” She grimaced, her bottom lip trembling. “I broke my promise. Chris barged into my apartment, and we ended up fighting about you.” She pointed to the bruise. “Which led to him to giving me this.”

He stepped back, his hand knocking the bottle of wine. He snagged it, rolling it between his palms. “Are you telling me Milton not only put his mouth on you but also his hands? Did he force himself on you?” he asked softly, blinking away a film of black spots in front of his eyes.

She gave him a stricken look that told him everything he needed to know. “At first, yes. But then he…and I…we—”

Roaring, he flung the bottle past Erika where it shattered into pieces against the door.