The only things they left intact were Jack’s bank account, his cellphone account, and his utilities accounts.
Not that Jack would be able to pay his bills anyway while sitting in jail.
And they’d deleted his primary e-mail account as well, so he wouldn’t be able to use it to log back into those accounts unless he remembered his passwords to them.
Betsy wouldn’t let the fact that Jack had taken the computer and used it—a computer she’d originally bought with her own money before meeting him—deter her from using it now. Tony had wiped Jack’s presence from it and restored it to a date just before she’d handed it over to Jack.
It was like he’d never had his slimy hands on it in the first place.
And, lucky for her, Jack had not deleted her e-mail account like she’d thought he had. He’d only changed the password, which Tony had been able to retrieve since Jack had set his e-mail address as the backup. Tony reset it, as well as her Facebook and Twitter accounts.
Tony showed her how to add the new Gmail account she’d created on her phone to her existing Gmail account, so she could receive those e-mails in the same account, as well as get her old Gmail e-mails on her phone.
It felt like a chunk of
her
had been restored. A chunk of her that Jack had desperately tried to erase in his attempts to completely own her.
“Can I set up a new FetLife account?” she asked. They’d found hers, deactivated by Jack, and reactivated it for her.
They’d changed Jack’s account, not wanting to deactivate it yet until they’d gone through and screencapped all the evidence of his contacts with other submissives, both in Florida and in Michigan. Tony and Ross wanted to contact the people to let them know about Jack’s arrest in case they had stories of their own they wanted to tell.
Or perhaps charges they wanted to file.
And they delinked him from her relationship-wise, and her from him.
They’d also found out he’d been actively talking to two other subs on FetLife within the past few weeks, messages that indicated he might have been trying to groom them to be his next slaves despite having Betsy chained in his apartment.
Tony had written to them from his own account, with the conversations copied and pasted into his messages to them, so they knew he wasn’t just faking when he warned them off Jack and about the close brush they’d had with an abusive asshat.
“That’s up to you,” Tony said. “I suggest only friending people you actually know in person. I also suggest sending people private messages when you friend them, to tell them who you are and why your new identity needs to be kept secret. I definitely would not use your old account. I would change the screen name and hold onto it, if you wanted, but the URL and user number doesn’t change if you do that. Use the new one for your new activity just in case Jack has a way of finding out your old one.”
She looked to Nolan and Kenny. “What do you think?”
Kenny held up his hands. “That’s up to you.”
“I miss being able to keep in touch with my friends,” she said.
“I don’t blame you,” Nolan replied.
She thought about it. “Obviously, no face pics.”
Tony smiled. “To quote Tilly,
duh
.”
“I can say I’m in Tampa or something, not Sarasota.”
“Again, that’s wise,” Tony said. “Or, I hear there’s a massive kinky population in Antarctica these days.” He smiled.
Tuesday morning, after the men left for work, Tilly got Betsy up and moving and into the shower, where Betsy was actually able to shave more of her legs by herself before asking for Tilly’s help.
Tilly made her get dressed in the same outfit she’d worn the afternoon before, since it’d only been worn for a couple of hours. Then they sat at the dining room table in front of Betsy’s laptop and started her online job search.
Plus Betsy e-mailed her resume, and the letter of recommendation from her former employer, to Kenny’s mom.
By lunchtime, Betsy had to admit despite physically feeling like crap, mentally it felt like she’d tipped her head sideways and a literal ton of cobwebs and dust and debris had fallen out her ear, leaving nothing behind in her skull but a clean, blank slate.
She also knew that feeling likely wouldn’t last. Ted had warned her to be ready for mood swings.
Tilly had also come by with another present, a Kindle, on which she’d purchased and downloaded over a dozen books Ted had recommended Betsy read to help her on her recovery journey.
So now she had homework, in addition to her job search.
And she was now texting back and forth with her mother and father. Which was a miracle in and of itself, since her father wasn’t big on texting. They had wanted to pay to fly her up to visit them, but Betsy didn’t want to do that yet. It would be too easy to let them talk her into moving in with them and staying and letting them take care of her.
That was something she knew she couldn’t do. Visiting them would have to wait until she was strong enough to take care of herself. Her life—what was left of it—was here in Florida. She didn’t want to leave Florida. She was reconnecting with friends here now, and didn’t want to derail that fragile, tenuous progress.
Tilly driving, they met Loren and Eliza for lunch. Betsy still had the sunglasses and hat, but today she’d tried applying the makeup herself and managed it without too many problems.
She felt somewhat self-conscious, but having her friends there to talk to made a huge difference and allowed her not to worry about if anyone was looking at her and wondering if she had been beaten up.
“Tomorrow,” Tilly said, “June will be there. I have to meet with Leigh about going out to LA. I can’t put that off any longer. But you’re going to be in good hands.”
“And you have me on Thursday,” Eliza said.
“And me on Friday,” Loren volunteered.
“Saturday and Sunday,” Tilly added, “the guys have said they’ll be home with you all day, so no worries there. Next week, Eliza will take over arranging the schedule. You can text and call me anytime. Unless I’m on a plane, in which case I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
“I won’t let you down,” Betsy swore. “I’m going to work my ass off and get back on my feet. I promise.”
“That’s all we ask,” Tilly said. “Because we want to see you succeed.”
* * * *
On Wednesday, June arrived before the men left for work. Betsy didn’t know her very well, but knew she was a trusted friend of the others.
That meant, by default, June already had Betsy’s trust.
Betsy was done trying to figure out who to trust and who not to trust. There was a clearly delineated circle of friends in the Suncoast Society munch group who knew and trusted each other. That was good enough for her. If someone wasn’t well-established within that strict circle, Betsy would give them a wide berth, no matter now nice and friendly they seemed.
Hell, at this point, she was ready to give Tilly and Eliza full control over her selections in play and romantic partners for the rest of her life. She’d obviously failed miserably—dangerously so—at her first attempt to enter the BDSM dating pool. Yes, she’d done okay playing, but when crossing the boundary from play to having more she’d once again screwed up.
The next time could kill her if she messed it up as badly as she had this time. Hell, she was probably lucky she wasn’t dead.
At least now she had her parents back in her life. More guilt there, that they’d been so worried about her all these months. There was relief that Jack had not talked to them at all.
But it left a bad taste in Betsy’s throat that she’d had to admit to her parents there was a possibility Jack might one day send pictures of her to them. She didn’t go into detail, and they didn’t ask, but they made it clear that if it happened, they’d simply report him to the cops for it.
And they wouldn’t love her any less for it, either.
After June helped her with her shower, she had Betsy dress in the yoga pants, sneakers, and a tanktop and they headed south.
“Where are we going?” Betsy asked.
June smiled. “Mental health day.”
Betsy recognized the turnoff for the northern road to Manasota Key. June bypassed the northern public beach and stopped at the middle one, called Blind Pass Beach, which was nearly deserted.
“Come on.” She grabbed two yoga mats from her trunk and led the way across the road from the parking lot to the boardwalk traversing the dunes and down to the sand.
“I don’t know yoga,” Betsy said as June rolled the mats out onto some firm sand above the high-tide debris line. The water was calm, slow rollers gently lapping at the sand, with only two other people walking along the beach several hundred yards south of them. On a weekday, they had it to themselves.
“We’re not doing yoga,” she said, adjusting an odd bulge under the right rear side of the waistband of her shorts.
“What’s that?” Betsy asked.
June smiled. “Insurance.”
Betsy must have looked confused.
“I have a concealed carry permit,” June said. “If you think I’m going to stand watch on someone and not carry, think again.”
“Does Tilly know that?”
June snorted. “Of course.”
June helped Betsy down onto one of the mats. After helping her kick off her sneakers, June took the other mat and sat there, putting her legs into a lotus position.
“I don’t expect you to copy me exactly,” June said. “Just do what you can.” She rested her hands on her knees. “Close your eyes and listen to me. Take a deep breath in and hold it before letting it out…”
Over the next hour, June verbally walked Betsy through a series of guided meditations, of focusing on her emotions, her breathing, the environment around her. The taste of the salty Gulf waters hanging thick in the air, the warmth of the sun on her flesh, the gentle breeze tugging at her hair, which she’d left loose under the hat.
June walked her through recognizing the pain, harnessing it, processing it.
Crying without feeling weaker for it, strengthening her mental and emotional walls without growing hard and cold.
When they finished, June instructed her to perform one final task, to sit and stare at the water, to imagine putting all the negativity she felt about herself on a paper boat and setting it aflame as she shoved it out into the water, to be taken away and absorbed by the waves.
That was what Betsy had completed when her cell phone rang, Ed Payne calling her.
“Hello?”
“Hey, you sitting down?”
Despite the warm afternoon, a chilling dread filled her. “Yeah?”
“He didn’t make bail, so it’s not that.”
Relief washed the dread away. “So what is it?”
“The media’s picked up the story,” he said. “I’ve fielded ten calls today from TV and radio stations trying to find you.”
The chill returned. “And?”
“Don’t worry, they’re not finding you. Not through me, at least. But I wanted to warn you before you saw it on the news or someone else told you. Is Tilly there?”
“No, June is.”
“Let me speak with her please.”
Her good mood shattered, Betsy handed the phone over to June. She spoke with him for a few minutes before ending the call and returning her phone.
“Okay. Well, so much for
that
. I thought you’d get more than a few minutes’ of peace out of it.”
“No, this was great. Thank you.” She stared down at the sand when something caught her eye. Reaching for it, she found a small, black shark’s tooth, about the size of the end of her pinky finger.
When she showed June, the woman laughed. “Yeah, we used to bring our girls here all the time looking for them when they were kids. This whole area is known as the shark’s teeth capital of the world. You should keep that. Remind you of today. Sharks are always replacing their teeth, you know. They shed them like cats shed fur. That’s why they’re so efficient.”
Betsy stared at it, fingering the tip. “Why’s it black?”
“Didn’t you ever hunt for them?”
“No.”
“The black ones are old. You’ll find white ones sometimes, but the black ones are like ancient old. Fossils. Somewhere, a shark was swimming, eating, and lost it. Tens, or maybe hundreds of thousands of years ago. He lost it, or died, and it fell out of his jaw. And now you’ve found it. Just imagine the odds.”
“I thought you said they were common around here?”
“They are, but you found that one. Or it found you. Depends on your point of view. You hungry? I know a great burger place.”
They returned home late in the afternoon, but still before the men got home. June helped her rinse off in the shower and change into a pair of PJs. They were just finishing that when Nolan arrived home, laden with grocery bags.
“Can I help?” Betsy asked.
“No,” he and June both said together, shooing her into the living room. “Tilly said your assignment tonight is an hour of job hunting, followed by two hours of reading, before you go to bed,” June told her.
“Wow. She
is
a sadist,” Nolan joked.
* * * *
Nolan walked outside to get another load of groceries, June on his tail. He suspected she wanted to talk about something outside of Betsy’s earshot, and she didn’t disappoint.
Once she filled him in on the phone call from Ed, Nolan leaned against the side of the car. “Dammit. We knew it was a matter of time, but I was hoping it wouldn’t be this soon.”
“Since there wasn’t a sexual assault,” June said, “the media usually won’t withhold the name. Ed’s been trying to reason with the people and tell them her safety is at risk, but there’s another issue, and Ed and I didn’t tell her this part.”
“What?”
“Jackass has a PD who’s trying to file for a bond reduction hearing. If he gets it, and if the judge grants the bond reduction, Jack might be able to make bail.”
“Fuck.”
“Oh, it gets better. Ed’s worried about the possibility of one of the tabloid media outlets trying a side run, maybe offering to foot his bail for an exclusive interview. You know, a BDSM love story gone bad, that kind of bullshit.”