Being Me by Lisa Renee Jones
“I can’t talk about this now,” I say as we stop at the doorway of the building, and the darkness starts to creep me out. I move closer to Chris and wrap my arm around his. “I just want to get in and out of here.”
Chris flips on the flashlight. We take several steps forward and I hear that noise that had freaked me out in the dark alone. Pop. Pop. I stop dead in my tracks. “What is that?”
Chris slowly moves the flashlight around in the darkness and there is a crackling sound and another pop. He settles the glow on the wall by the floor and leads me forward. He squats next to a light socket and I follow him down into the beam of the light to stare at the outlet. There is a paper clip shoved inside the hole of one plug.
My chest tightens. “I guess we now know how to define random.” I meet his stare. “I need to make sure nothing obvious is missing in the unit.”
Chris pushes to his feet and takes me with him and we find the unit door shut. “I suspect the guy we just talked to shut it.”
Right. Of course. That makes sense. “I still want to look inside.”
He pulls open the door and shines the light around the room, focusing on the papers on the floor. “I dropped those,” I tell him, reliving my panic.
“Do you need whatever they are?”
“No,” I say, just wanting out of here. “Not now.”
“Then everything else looks in order?”
“Yes. It doesn’t seem like whoever was here touched anything inside.” Unless they knew exactly what they wanted and where it was, a voice in my head says. Perhaps more journals? There are many pieces of Rebecca’s life, including how she arrived and left the gallery, that are missing from what I’ve read. I don’t know why this hasn’t hit me until now. Rebecca was too consistent with her writing to skip long periods of time. If I’m right, there has to be at least a few more journals, and it would make sense for them to be in the unit. Or they were, until tonight.
• • •
Thirty minutes later, I am leaning against the wall of the small, boxlike office of the storage unit, remotely aware that Chris is in deep conversation with the manager. My Dark Prince can pretty much do or say whatever he wants right now if it gets me out of this place sooner. I manage to stay present in the conversation long enough to hear Chris secure a month of free rental, but then that’s not surprising since Chris all but flattens the office manager with a promise of a lawsuit over the danger I’d been put in.
Danger. That word has me checking out and into my own head. I tell myself Chris is excessively protective, and while it feels good to have someone care, he’s also blowing up the fear in my mind that I’m quite capable of exaggerating without his aid. My thoughts go on a roller-coaster ride of wicked possibilities that has me in knots. If I was in danger in that storage unit, am I in danger now? What have I gotten myself into? And what did Rebecca get herself into? I cannot help but relive the events in the darkness, replaying alternate endings, and none of them are happy. How does everyone just say she’s off with some hot man and not miss her?
My gut twists and my mind goes to Ella. I’ve dismissed her silence as a happy honeymoon and a friend who’s forgotten me in the midst of passion and newfound love. This isn’t so hard for me to believe of Ella. She’s alone and hungry for the sense of belonging this man has given her. But isn’t that hunger a vulnerability the wrong man could take advantage of?
Suddenly, I need to hear Ella’s voice, and if she’s forgotten me for wedded bliss, I will happily scold her. I just need to know she’s okay. I’m the only one Ella has to miss her. Ella knowing I am there for her, that if she ever isn’t okay someone will care, is important to me.
I shove off of the wall and grab my phone from my jacket and head outside, but I am quick to plant myself against the glass by the door where Chris can see me and I can see him. Stupid once tonight, not twice. The night air is not my friend, but I ignore the chill.
Punching in Ella’s number, I pray for an answer and get a fast busy signal. I shove the phone to my forehead. Why didn’t I get an alternate number? Why? I have no idea what to do. I don’t even know the exact day she is due back into town, and I decide calling her new husband’s medical practice tomorrow is my best option.
The door opens and Chris appears. I do not know how it’s possible, but each time I see him it is as if it’s the first time, as if he slides inside me and fills what is empty.
He leans a hand on the wall above me, sheltering me from the wind, from the world. He is quiet power and strength and he speaks to the woman in me in ways no man ever has. “How are you doing?” he asks, studying me with probing, pale green eyes that always seem to see too much. “You okay?”
I brush my hand over his cheek, letting the soft rasp of his dark blond stubble stroke my fingers. “I will be when we get out of here.” I let my hand drop away. “What did the manager say about the paper clips?”
“He claims they’ve had problems with kids messing around the building. Vandals.”
I feel a stab of anger and indignation. “So that’s his explanation? Kids did this?”
“He’s protecting his ass, Sara.” He slides his hand down my waist and around my backside, caressing me intimately. “And I plan to protect yours.” He brushes hair from my eyes. “You’re staying at my place until the private investigator tells us there’s nothing to worry about. That way no one but me can get to you.” His voice lowers, turns rough. “You’ll be all mine.”
The possessive way his body cradles mine, the way he says the words, sends a tingling sensation spiraling through my body. I refuse to think of the consequences of giving myself to Chris, a man I know will consume me, perhaps destroy me, but right now he feels as if he is saving me. I am willingly all his.
Four
After a quick stop by my apartment, I am glad to be in my car, following Chris to his place. I have no idea why the stop to get my things made me uneasy, but it did. Maybe it was the tiny space and my feeling of claustrophobia after being in the storage unit in the darkness. I couldn’t pack quickly enough. Chris hovering by the door, just as eager to leave, hadn’t helped, either. It was as if we both sensed something was off.
Just beyond the driveway to Chris’s building, he stops at a light, and I halt behind him and use the opportunity to try for the fifth time to call Ella. Once again, I receive only a fast busy signal. I am helplessly incapable of reaching her and I’m rattled.
I contemplate all that might have befallen her while I was safely back here in the States. I am all doom and gloom tonight, but then, I’ve been locked in a dark storage unit and scared shitless. I am giving myself tonight to wallow in it. I decide that might not be a good idea, when I blink and realize I don’t remember pulling into the driveway of Chris’s place, and the doorman is standing beside my car.
With my purse strap over my shoulder, I step out of the car and hand the twenty-something doorman I don’t recognize my keys. I glance up at the high-rise that is more luxury hotel than apartment and am reminded of how rich and powerful Chris is and how humbly he wears his success. “Thank you,” I murmur.
“We need your bag from the trunk,” Chris reminds me, and the bellman pops the trunk. Chris’s leather jacket slides open to reveal the stretch of a black T-shirt over his incredibly hot body, and I decide the heck with wallowing in doom and gloom. I’m going to wallow in Chris tonight.
“I can bring it up,” the doorman offers.
“I got it,” Chris says and quickly grabs my bags, and I know this is because Chris doesn’t want to be disturbed once we are upstairs. I approve. Oh yes, I do.
I fall into step with Chris, and I am not surprised by how comfortable I feel by his side. He has a way of making me feel alive and at ease that I have never felt before. It’s a big part of what drew me to him from the beginning. It’s also why I know I can go places with him no one else could take me.
We stop just inside the lobby, where fancy marble glistens under our feet and expensive furniture decorate
“Ms. McMillan will be staying here all week while I travel. I’ll need you to ensure she’s well looked after.”
Jacob’s expression is back to stone but his gaze meets mine and he gives a small nod. “Anything you need, just ask.”
“Thank you, Jacob,” I say, and I mean it. He has a way about him that makes me feel I can trust him, and I think it’s because I sense Chris trusts him, and I have a sense that Chris doesn’t trust easily.
The two men exchange a few casual words, and when finally Chris and I step onto the elevator, I am suddenly, ridiculously nervous. It isn’t like this is my first time at Chris’s apartment but much has happened in the past few days. I do not know what to expect besides the unexpected with Chris, and while this excites me, it is hard not to feel some trepidation.
I lean against the wall and our eyes meet, and no matter how hard I try to stop rambling when I’m nervous, I never seem to succeed. “When you’re in Paris, if I try to call you, will I be able reach you?”
His eyes narrow and darken. “I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon, Sara.”
His reply hits an instant nerve, and I know it is partly because staying with him is a shift in our relationship. It’s taking the vulnerable theme of the night to a whole new level. I do not want him to see this in me and my gaze drops to the ground. I try to fight what I am feeling but his words play in my head. Anytime soon. Eventually he will leave. We need each other right now, I tell myself, two broken people who have connected in the depths of all our fucked-upness. I wonder why it feels that it isn’t enough when only days ago it was exactly what I wanted.
The doors open to reveal his apartment and my gaze jerks to Chris’s. He is watching me with an unreadable expression. I cut my gaze and walk from the elevator into his apartment. The entire front wall window of twinkling city lights is one big erotic memory of him pressing me against it, of the danger of it breaking, and even more so of trusting him, while he fucked me senseless. I want to be senseless right now in an almost desperate way.
“Sara,” he says softly from behind me.
I turn to him, and I launch into the obvious deflection he is too smart not to see for what it is. “My friend I told you about, the one who is in Paris. I can’t reach her. I just get a fast busy signal.”
He hesitates a moment, and I know he’s contemplating pushing me to talk about what just happened in the elevator, but he doesn’t. “Sounds like she’s in one of the more remote areas, which isn’t uncommon when people take tours.”
We are still standing by the elevator and it feels awkward but I don’t know where to go. To the living room? To his bedroom? “I guess that makes sense,” I say, hoping the logical answer is the right one. “It’s her honeymoon, so seeing the country would be logical while there.”
“What has you worried about her all of a sudden?”
“It’s not all of a sudden, but . . . nobody is worried about Rebecca, and Ella, she has no one but me to worry about her.”
Seconds tick by and I want to rip a reply from him before he says, “You have me. You know that, right?”
I swallow hard against the lump that forms in my throat. “I know.” But a voice in my head rejects my reply.
Awareness flickers in his eyes and I know he sees what I do not want him to see. He pulls me to him and kisses me. “I’m going to make you believe that the next time you say it.” He runs a hand over my hair. “And before this night is over. Now off to my bedroom, where I’ve wanted you all night.” He turns me and swats my backside.
I revel in his primitive order, and that hand on my backside, promising something erotic and thrilling, and I grow more intrigued. I do not understand this feeling I have when I’ve spent years fighting to be independent, free of controlling men.
I’m out of my head and back into the fiery storm of nerves as we enter his bedroom. This isn’t our first time together. I stare at the massive king-sized bed, set on top of a pedestal, which promises seductive pleasures, and some kind of buzzer sounds in the other room. I think it must be the delivery chute in the kitchen, which is much like that of a bank drive-through.
“Most likely my messages,” Chris says from behind me, then sets my bags down on top of the pedestal. “I’ll be right back.” He motions to an open door by the bathroom. “That’s the closet. Take whatever space you like. Nothing is off-limits.”
Nothing is off-limits. Isn’t he telling me that by having me stay here while he’s gone, he’s inviting me into his life, his secrets? It is more than an olive branch. It’s an entire tree.
I squat down next to the expensive Louis Vuitton suitcase Chris had bought me for our Napa trip the weekend before, and I unzip it. I shrug my purse off my shoulder and set it on the floor next to it. I flip open the case, and there lying on top of my things are the journals and the box I’d taken from Rebecca’s unit. I wasn’t about to leave them at my apartment, where I felt they might fall into the wrong hands. They hold her secrets, and I wonder if they hold someone else’s as well. I intend to stack them in Chris’s closet but a passage I’d read suddenly burns into my mind.
I reach for the top journal that is bookmarked and walk to the pedestal at the side of the bed, out of view from the doorway, and sit down. Pulling my knees to my chest, I begin to read the familiar passage and the words ripple through me with painful clarity. This is Chris’s world.
Suddenly, he is in front of me, towering above me. I feel him in every pore of my existence even before I dare to lift my gaze to his. I know what I must do but I am scared. I told him I wasn’t. I told myself I wasn’t. But I am.
Chris kneels down in front of me, and though he doesn’t look at the journal, it is the white elephant between us. He’s removed his jacket and my gaze catches on the bright coloring of the dragon tattoo on his right arm. I reach out and touch it. It is a part of him, his past, his pain. I want to be a part of him, to truly understand.
“Whatever you read in that journal has nothing to do with you and me.”
Emotion tightens my throat and I do not look at him. I trace that tattoo, the bright red of the wings that flex as he grips his knee. “But it does,” I whisper.
“It doesn’t.”
Reading him the passage seems the only way for him to understand. I force my gaze from his arm to Rebecca’s writing. “Like the thorns on the roses he loves to give me, I welcomed the pain of the flogger biting into my back. It is the escape from all that I have lost, all that I have seen and done, and regret doing. He gives this to me. He is my drug. The pain is my drug. It ripples through me and I feel nothing but the bitter bite of leather and the sweet silk of the darkness and pleasure that follows.” My gaze lifts to Chris’s.
Tension crackles off him and he takes the journal from me and sets it on the nightstand. “If not for those journals bringing you to me, I’d curse the day you ever found them.” He slides his hands to my face and forces my gaze to his. “You aren’t Rebecca, and we don’t have, nor will we ever have, the kind of relationship she had with Mark.”
“Mark.”
“Yes, Mark.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because he can’t just be happy with those who invite this lifestyle and welcome it. He has a thing for bringing in innocents who don’t belong in this world and training them as subs. He gets off on the power of it.”
In the back of my mind, there are questions about Mark, but there is only room now for where this takes me with Chris. “You’ve trained . . . subs?”
He scrubs his jaw and then runs his hands down his jean-clad legs. “Don’t do this to yourself or to us.”
“That’s a yes.” My voice is
“It’s a no, Sara. I’m not Mark. Master and sub was too much commitment for me. I do not want to be responsible for someone’s well-being. Not beyond one session. I got my fix and then quickly moved on.”
His fix. I hate this choice of words. I barely know the man who uses them, who lived them. But it is Chris and it confuses me. “What does that even mean?”
His jaw clenches.
“I need to understand, Chris.”
His lashes lower, the lines of his face hardening. “There are rooms you go to,” he surprises me by explaining. “You can choose to be masked and I do. I don’t want faces and names.”
My mind goes crazy with what might happen in those rooms. “Never?”
“That was my style, Sara. No commitments.”
He didn’t say “never” and I press for more, for how his past affects us now. “And yet I’m here.”
“I told you. I’ve broken all my rules with you.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re you, Sara. There is no other answer.”
The part of me that is never confident, that is never completely convinced this talented and famous man can really want me, struggles with this answer, but yet, I feel this way about him. He has become my escape and my sanctuary. I think he is telling me he sees me the same way, but I know we are lying to ourselves and each other if we think nothing else matters. “You can’t just shut this all out, Chris. You can’t just meet me and be who you were before. I need to understand it and be a part of it.”
“No. You don’t.”
“But you took me to that club last night. You wanted me to understand.”
“I wanted you to understand where Mark would lead you and why I wasn’t going to let that happen. Rebecca didn’t belong in this world and you’ve read how it tormented her to be here.”
“You told me I don’t belong in this world, either,” I manage, choking on the words.