Dirtiest Secret by J. Kenner
He wanted to touch her. To worship her.
He wanted to claim her.
"The bed," he said. "We start easy." He met her eyes. "We won't stay there."
She licked her lips, excitement flaring in her eyes. "Yes, sir." She started toward the bed, then looked back over her shoulder. "Dallas?" She swallowed. "I want you to tie me down. To the bed, I mean." She licked her lips, and he could practically see the nervous energy coming off her in waves. "Spread-eagled and naked."
His entire body was tense. He knew that being tied down had terrified her in captivity. "Baby, are you sure? Have you done that before?"
She shook her head. "No. I--no. But I want to." Her eyes burned into his. "Don't you see? With you, it's not fear, it's desire. It's trust, Dallas. Trust and love."
"Oh, baby." Christ, she melted him. How the hell could this woman melt him so damn easily?
"Dallas?"
"On the bed," he said. "In the dress." It was a V-neck style that buttoned up the front from hem to cleavage.
"Oh."
He almost laughed at her disappointment. "Don't worry. You'll be naked soon enough. But getting you there will be my pleasure. You just get on your back, hands above your head."
She did as told, and when she was stretched out, long and lean, he walked to the headboard and tugged on one of the two leather straps that her friend Brody had so conveniently placed at the top corners of the bed. "Arms above your head," he ordered, his cock stiffening when, once again, she complied without hesitation.
He bound her wrists, then moved to the foot of the bed and used the straps there to bind her ankles. "I like it," he said, letting his eyes roam over her, imagining each and every way he was going to touch her. But still, she was bound to a bed, and he couldn't shake his fear for her. "Are you okay? We need a safe word."
"No," she said. "We don't." She met his eyes. "You'll always protect me, remember?"
His cock strained against his jeans, the sweet, honest tenderness in her words doing him in. Tonight, he thought. Surely he could manage to fuck her hard tonight.
"All right," he said. "No safe word. But there's still something about this scene that's not quite how I want it..."
He trailed off as he got on the bed and straddled her, then very slowly undid the buttons on her dress. He couldn't get it off without releasing her, so he simply spread it open--then gasped when he saw the chain around her neck--and the small golden locket that he'd given her for her eleventh birthday.
He took a moment to let the fact that she'd not only kept the locket, but that she'd worn it tonight to sink in. Then he looked at her face--at the heat in her eyes--and returned to the task of undressing her.
The bra clasped in the front, and he opened it as well, spreading it as he had the dress. The panties were a different story, and he used the small knife he kept on his keychain to slice them at the hips, making her cry out with each motion of the blade. He pulled them off, and then cupped her bare pussy with his palm. She trembled beneath him, already swollen. Already wet.
She wanted him, no doubt about it.
More than that, she trusted him. Utterly and completely.
He slid off the bed and stood at the foot, looking down at the woman he adored. The woman he'd loved his entire life.
You'll always protect me, remember?
It's trust, Dallas. Trust and love.
She was giving herself to him so completely it humbled him--and if he took what she was offering without telling her the truth about Deliverance, then he really was a monster.
And he couldn't tell her now. Couldn't say one word without betraying his men.
Goddammit.
Goddammit all to hell.
Slowly, regretfully, he reached over and released her ankles. Then he walked to the head of the bed and uncuffed her wrists.
"Dallas? What's the matter?"
"I'm sorry," he said, because what else could he say? Nothing until he talked to the team.
"Sorry?" She sat up, pulling the bedspread up to cover her.
"I love you. Christ, Jane, I love you so much it hurts. But I can't do this to you. I have to go."
He didn't wait for her to answer. He couldn't even bear to look at her face.
He turned and he left.
And he hated himself every step of the way.
What the hell?
I sit on the bed, a little confused, a little scared, a whole lot worried.
He said he can't do this to me--but do what to me?
Leave me? Apparently so, but I'm certain that's not all of it and I'm angry and hurt and frustrated.
More than that, I'm pissed and I'm embarrassed and I'm determined to figure out what the hell is going on.
I hurry back upstairs and get dressed, tossing on the first jeans and T-shirt I come across. I don't know for certain that he's going to the Hamptons house, but I figure it's a good bet. For one thing, he used to own an apartment in the city, but he sold it recently and hasn't bought a new one yet. For another, even if he's not there, Archie can tell me where he is. And at any rate, right now I'm too wired not to do something.
I consider calling his cellphone, but dismiss the idea. He won't answer, and I'm not interested in playing phone tag. I just want answers.
I just want him.
So I drive too fast through the night, my head filled with worries and fears. I'd known that being with Dallas wouldn't be easy, but I'd really thought that we were communicating now, and this sudden and complete shut-down is truly freaking me out.
Was it me?
Was it seeing Brody? Realizing that I've slept with other men?
Was it the bondage? Because he knows that it scared me?
Why the hell isn't he just talking to me?
Questions run on an endless loop through my mind, but I still have no answers when I arrive at the house. I let myself in, thankful he didn't think to change the lock and alarm codes, then race upstairs to his bedroom.
It's empty, and for a second I think that he stayed in the city. That maybe he just went to his office. Or that he bought an apartment I don't know about.
Or that he's staying with a woman.
I swallow the bile that rises with that thought and start to press the intercom for Archie. But then I remember the security monitors and I push the button to acquire video for the garage. Dallas's car is there, which means that he's here, too. In the house or on the property, and I start scrolling through the screens to look for him.
By the time it cycles back to the garage, I'm baffled. He's nowhere to be found; either he's not here at all or he's in a room with no security monitor.
I remember what Brody said about his playroom, and my stomach twists again. Is that where he is? In a hidden hardcore dungeon with another woman? One he's comfortable taking to the edge because he's taken her there already?
One he's not afraid to taint?
I close my eyes in defense against the violent need to lash out. Damn him. I thought he understood. I thought he believed me when I told him that I would go there with him.
Bastard.
I don't even realize I've made a decision until I'm heading down to the basement. It's the best guess I have as to where the playroom is located, and since I don't remember seeing it on the security feed, I'm pretty certain I'm right.
It's accessed through stairs in both the kitchen and the garage, and I head to the kitchen, then descend to the next level, most of which is used for bulk pantry space and other storage. I walk down the narrow corridor that I remember so well from my childhood. There's a door at the end, and I pass through, then down another set of stairs that form a hard right angle before reaching the basement door.
I expect that door to be closed, but as I get closer, I realize that it isn't because I can hear voices, and I realize that my fears were justified, because the voice I hear is a woman's.
I can't make out words--honestly, I feel too sick to even concentrate--and I'm walking faster now, fueled by hurt and a
But when I get to the doorway, there's no toy-filled dungeon, but some sort of high-tech operations system that rivals what I've seen with Bill at WORR. Hell, it probably rivals the Pentagon.
I freeze just outside the door, my hand over my mouth as I look around and try to understand what I'm seeing. The video monitors. The maps. The various computers doing unknown tasks.
What the hell?
The woman's voice is coming from a video screen. It's on a loop, and she's running on a beach, urging whoever is holding the camera to "come on, handsome, don't make me wait."
I frown, confused. Is she talking to Dallas? I don't think so, because he's barely even looking at the video. Instead, he's angled to look at another monitor, this one showing a map of Mexico.
Then it fades, and I almost yelp when Liam's face pops onto the screen in its place.
Seriously. What. The. Fuck?
"She went missing yesterday," Liam says. "Her boyfriend reported it to local authorities. It's the case I mentioned, and she's skipped out on family and friends before, which is why we did a little more investigation before confirming the kidnapping."
"How did she end up on our radar?" Dallas asks.
"Her father is business partners with Mr. Liu, and was aware that Liu came to us instead of Chinese officials to get back his little boy. The burner phone we issued Liu is still active and linked to Tony's burner for another two days. Standard follow-up in case the boy needs special attention. He left a message. He wants to give Deliverance forty-eight hours, then pull in the feds."
Deliverance.
I start to sag, then reach for the doorframe to steady myself.
"What leads do we have?" Dallas asks.
"We've tracked her to Mexico City. I have Tony looking at--behind you. Shit."
Dallas slams his palm down on a button on the console in front of him. Immediately, all the monitors in the room go dark.
He turns then, and when he sees me, his eyes go wide. "Jane."
"You're Deliverance?" My chest is so tight I can barely force out the words.
I watch as a flurry of emotion washes over his face. I'm holding my breath in defense against the truth that is coming. The truth that is so damn obvious there can be no other explanation even though I desperately hope I'm wrong.
"Tell me, dammit."
"Yes," he finally says. "I'm Deliverance."
He takes a step toward me, but I just shake my head. "Jane. Please. We have to talk."
I can't--I can't process it. I can't deal with it. Not the fact that he is at the heart of something I find so reprehensible. Not the fact that he kept it a secret. Not the fact that I thought I knew him better than anyone, and now my whole world is crashing down around me.
"Jane," he repeats. "Jane, please."
"No." It's the one word I can say. And when he takes another step toward me, I turn and race up the stairs.
I'm breathing hard when I get to my car, gulping in air as I struggle to get the key into the ignition. I shouldn't drive--I'm crying too hard--but I take off anyway and then park on the shoulder in front of a neighbor's house until I can get my shit together.
Or, at least, together enough so that I can drive without killing myself.
I don't know how long I sit there, half-expecting Dallas to pull up behind me. He doesn't, and I can't help but laugh at the irony. He knows me well, after all. And that means he knows I need to be alone right now. Or, at least, I need to not be with him.
The truth is that I don't want to be alone, and as I head back to the city, I dial Brody. But I only get his voicemail, and the message I leave is garbled because the moment I try to speak I burst into tears again.
I'm such a fucking mess.
I'm exhausted by the time I reach the townhouse. Too little sleep, too much adrenaline, and now I've crashed and burned.
I stumble into the house, grateful for the exhaustion. Maybe I'll just pass out. Maybe I'll sleep without nightmares.
Maybe I'll wake up and the world will be sane again, and I'll realize that this is the nightmare.
I head into the kitchen to get a glass of wine to take to bed with me, and let out a shriek when I see both Brody and Stacey sitting at my breakfast table.
"What the hell?" I demand, as Brody leaps to his feet and comes to my side.
"Are you okay? I tried to call you back, but it just went to voicemail."
I shake my head, confused, and realize I must have turned my phone to silent. I glance at it quickly, half-expecting to see a missed call from Dallas. But there isn't one, and I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed.
"Dammit, Jane, I was worried. What happened?"
"Dallas," I say. "I think--I think it may be over just when it's finally begun."
Just saying those words--those horrible words--makes me queasy. I slide into one of the chairs at the table as Stacey rises. There's an open bottle of wine on the counter--and they each already have a glass. She brings a fresh glass and pours it for me. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks gently.
I shake my head. "Actually, yes. But I can't. It's--it's hard. It's personal." I can't tell them about Deliverance. Despite the fact that Deliverance represents something I abhor, I can't share that secret.
My eyes flick to Brody, who looks confused. He knows damn well that between the two of us, very little is too personal.
"Was it the room? Did it freak him out?"
"No. Yes. No," I decide. "That just triggered it. There are issues. Things in his past. Things that are his to share, you know. But--"
"But it's coming between you," Stacey says. "Fair enough."
I take a sip of wine, so grateful my friends are here even though I can't really tell them what's going on.
"Can you work through it?" Brody asks.
"I don't know," I say honestly. How the hell do you work through such a fundamental difference?
"Bullshit," Stacey says, her voice mild, but her expression fierce.
"Excuse me?" Despite everything, I'm amused. That is not a Stacey-like response.
"If Dallas were to die tomorrow, would you regret every single day that the two of you stayed apart for whatever the hell reason there is?"
I just gape at her.
"Dammit, I'm serious--maybe it really is over. But if it's surmountable, then for god's sake start climbing that mountain. Haven't you two lost enough time?"
We have, I think. We really have.
But I'm not sure how to get past this.
I'm still not sure when I wake up late in the morning, or when I go back to sleep, too sad and frustrated and lost to care about the fact that it's a gorgeous day and I'm missing all of it.
When I finally drag myself out of bed around eight Sunday evening, I'm still not sure what to do. I'm still numb. I'm still lost.
I haven't magically healed, and it's my life that is still a nightmare, but not the kind I can wake from. And the truth is, I'm starting to wonder if I truly understand what is at the core of my pain. Is it the difference in our beliefs? Or is it that he kept such a huge secret from me.
I don't know, and the question is still on my mind when Liam shows up at my doorstep Monday morning.
"You writing me off, too? Or can I come in?"
I frown, because I'm not. I hadn't even thought about calling Liam to chew him out. To tell him our friendship was on the outs. Honestly, except for the shock of seeing him on that video screen, I hadn't thought of him at all.
"It's different with Dallas," I say defensively as I let him in, then head to the living room.
"Because you're sleeping with him?"
I whip around to face him, surprised.
"Because you're in love with him?"
"I--he told you?"
"If he hadn't, you just did. Do you really think that matters to me? I've known you two should be together since you handed him that damn bunny."
I drop onto the couch and put my head in my hands, my elbows on my knees. "I'm all screwed up,
"I get that," he says. "But you're not angry with him because of what he does. You know he's not like Benson. That Deliverance isn't like Benson."
I nod. I'd never believe that he or Liam would so callously put victims at risk in order to make a buck. "But that's not all of it. What you do--this vigilante bullshit--"
"You don't agree with it," he says. "Understood. But you don't agree with a lot of things people do and you don't write them off."
I lift my head to look at him, because his words are a mirror to my earlier thoughts. What he did or what he kept secret? Which is really at the heart of my pain?
"Take a hard look at Colin," Liam continues. "Tax fraud. Insider trading. And we both know he was into more dangerous stuff than that. Your arm didn't get broken back then because he fucked up his accounting. Smuggling, drugs, I don't know. But I do know he's done some messed up shit, and you know it, too."
I can only nod. He's right.
"Even your dad. He may not be part of Deliverance, but he did exactly what you say you're against. And yet here you are in this nice house from the family trust. And you love him and he's your father, and I don't think you've even thought to bring it up with him."
"No," I say. "I've thought about it. I just haven't said anything."
"Why not?"
I shrug. "Because he's my father. Because--because I love him and he did what he thought made sense and it's just easier to stay quiet and not tell him why I think he was so, so wrong."
"Funny, I was under the impression you loved Dallas, too."
I lick my lips. "I do," I whisper. But the truth is, Dallas matters more. It's not like it is with my father. I can't just stay quiet. Not if I want to be close. Not if I want there to be an us. And I do. God help me, I really do. But I don't know how to get past this wall.
I don't say that. I don't need to. I'm sure that Liam can see the answer on my face.
"That raid almost got him killed," I say. "Those damn mercenaries Daddy hired almost destroyed everything."
"Bullshit. Dallas was already transferred. Honestly, I think they set you up. I've thought about it a lot over the years, and I think they made sure you had clues. Made sure you had just enough evidence that the team could find where you'd been held. They wanted to blow up the building and take out a few of Eli's men. They wanted you all to think Dallas was dead. They were fucking with you. Because that's what evil does, and whoever snatched you two was pure fucking evil."