Page 7

Grit

He wished he was a mind reader.

It would make his life so much fucking easier to simply pluck the thoughts from her head instead of trying to guess. Her body was easy enough to read; she might think she’d covered her ass on that score, but she’d been alone too long to realize she telegraphed so much through her muscles, the way she moved and held herself too still.

Then there was her face. She controlled that admirably, her expression giving little away, but her eyes were the complete opposite.

He’d chosen this section of the couch for one reason—the mirror on the wall to the left of the TV. He doubted she’d taken any notice of it; Callie’s choice of entertainment followed by his undivided attention was keeping Tabitha’s brain exactly where he wanted it.

When she held out her hand, trembling and trusting, he took it and lifted it to his lips. He met Elias’s midnight blue stare, inclining his head just a fraction to let the other Dom know things were going as planned, then blocked him out.

“Close your eyes, Tabby. Bring your breathing back in sync with mine, and just listen to my voice. That’s it. Good girl.” He praised her despite the fact she was huffing like the little engine that could, and her slender body was stiff as a plank. “There’s nothing to be afraid of here. Say the safeword and the giant blond asshole over there will come rearrange my face, okay?”

A quiet, nervous laugh. “I thought you liked him?”

“I do, as long as he’s not rearranging my face. Have you seen the size of his hands?”

“They’re big.”

Grit switched their hands so he cradled hers from the top, linking their fingers. Taking his time, he dragged their fingertips in slow circles on her stomach. “Mmm-hmm. I like my teeth where they are. But if I do something to make you safe out, then I deserve to have them knocked down my throat. Did you close your eyes?”

A tiny head shake.

“All right. Tell me when you’re ready.”

He watched her in the mirror, the range of emotions flitting through her eyes as she struggled with the need to please him and the desire to save herself. After a few minutes of his circling touch and low murmurs in her ear, he felt her breathing snap into rhythm with his—slow, easy, quiet.

It took a minute or two more before she sagged into him, her eyes closing.

“That’s a good girl. My good girl. I know it must be difficult to submit whenever I ask, Tabby, but you never disappoint. Especially here, when we’re not in familiar surroundings and not alone.” Lowering his mouth to her shoulder, he spoke between soft kisses. “I hoped you might feel safer, more protected, with not only two other Doms in the room, but another woman as well. I’m assured that she’s quite the savage when she believes someone else is in trouble.”

“She couldn’t stop you.”

“Apparently, she took on Atticus without any thought for her own safety when he threatened to take a belt to Alicia’s ass.” He grinned at the thought. As he talked, he enlarged the lulling circle on her belly until their fingertips almost brushed the pretty white-blonde curls protecting her core, pausing when she went rigid. “Relax and breathe, Tabby.”

“I’m n-no good at this.”

“Only because you’re scared. We’re going to change that, you and me. Can you spread your legs wider for me, little tiger?” More kisses, travelling to the rounded ball of her shoulder joint and all the way back along to beneath her ear. “Do you know what I want to do to you? I think about it more than I should, but there’s something decadent about laying a beautiful woman out on my bed and settling between her thighs.”

Tabitha said nothing, her slight shift on his lap the only response.

“Spreading you out on the sheets, kissing every inch of you because every single one is beautiful, scars and all. Teasing all the hidden hot spots of pleasure with my beard, dragging it over your skin until you’re ready to burst.” He lifted his other hand to her breast again, brushing his thumb back and forth along the sensitive underside. “Sliding down your body until your legs hook over my shoulders. I think I’d give myself a minute to play with these soft, pale curls,” he murmured, doing just that with her fingers twined with his. “Soft like silk, little tiger. Pale as pearls. I’d give them a kiss, just to show my appreciation.”

Bullets could bounce off her, she was so tense. A low noise, not unlike a dying moose, throbbed on the air.

From the corner of his eye, Grit saw both Eli and Evander’s heads whip in their direction. The light from the screen caught the scrutiny in Elias’s gaze as it raked over Tabitha, then he lifted an eyebrow in question.

Grit shook his head, declining their interference.

Widening his legs, he opened her further until she whimpered in protest. “Even though I love these curls, my impatience would get the better of me. I’d want to know if my woman, the woman trusting me with the very core of her being, is wet for me.” Slowly, he guided their hands lower, into her red flag zone, and felt her recoil. “Now the question is, what do I do first? There’s this perfect little clit in need of attention, but this sweet pussy is dreadfully neglected.”

“Grit,” she beseeched.

“That fucker didn’t deserve you, Tabby. He didn’t deserve to be your first, he didn’t deserve the right to call himself your father. The assholes who came after him should’ve been hunted down and castrated for their part in what was done to you.” He sighed and rested his forehead against her hair. “What’s your safeword?”

“Oh fuck.” Sweat seeped through his shirt from her back. “Rory.”

“Use it if you need it.” Mentally bracing himself for war, Grit slid their joined hands over her curls to cover the place she feared most.

For about five seconds, she contained herself. Admirably, he thought. But he didn’t let his guard down, and she didn’t disappoint his expectations.

Wrenching her hand from under his, Tabitha raked her nails down his arm, trying to gouge furrows into his skin. When that didn’t work, she twisted like a snake, only to be thwarted by his free arm pinning her diagonally across her chest between her breasts.

It was akin to sumo wrestling a bucking bull, he decided, doing his best to simply hold onto her instead of forcibly restraining her fury. She didn’t need to be pinned down and made to take what he gave her; she’d been put in that position her entire life.

She needed to be able to fight like the hellcat she was and still feel loved.

With his hand cupping her pussy fully, he kept her safe as she bucked and snarled, accepting the bite to his forearm and another to his shoulder as a hazard of the job he’d assigned himself.

“C’mon, little tiger,” he heard himself say over the thump of blood surging through his ears. “Do some fucking damage. Let it out, give it all to me. I’m the one doing this to you. I’m the one touching you. I’m the one bringing the fucking pain back to life. Make me pay for it.”

He was under no illusions about what he was doing. Baiting her now, when she was extremely open and vulnerable, was a lot like signing his death warrant. He was brutally aware he’d left several areas on his person available for her wrath—if he came out of this with nothing less than a broken arm, he’d count himself lucky.

The couch squeaked and creaked ominously with the manic movement of their combined weight. Praying it wouldn’t fall apart, he continued to stoke her rage, bringing it to the surface so it might have a chance to burn hot and wild.

“Men just want one thing from you, don’t they?” he murmured in her ear. He gave her pussy a light pat, feeling her coil tighter than a spring. “This right here. Dominic, his friends, his associates. All they wanted from a young, frightened girl was the cunt between your legs.”

The scream she made was straight from the pits of hell.

Grit cursed as her skull made contact with his chin, sending pain radiating through his jaw, his teeth, even his goddamn eyeballs. Her nails did some damage, just as he’d ordered, digging trenches into his arms, the backs of his hands, even going for his neck.

She morphed into a whirling vortex of dark energy, years of fear and hatred and anger toward her father turning on him instead. Kicking, screaming, hurling threats that made his blood run cold.

Using his strength and size advantage, he managed to contain her, barely, until exhaustion broke her. Covered in sweat, fucking dripping with it, Grit steeled himself and wound her up again, poking the bear repeatedly until there was nothing left for her to fight with.

When she went limp, he realized she could—at any point—have killed him if that’s what she’d truly wanted. She wasn’t quite a match for him in the strength department, but she’d given him a run for his money, and her agility was much greater.

Breathing hard, he blinked sweat out of his eyes and took a moment to savor a hard won victory. “That’s my girl, Tabby. Catch your breath. Fierce little tiger,” he praised, even though his face was throbbing like a rotted tooth. “Take a minute, slow your breathing.”

Not once in all his years had he ever felt so accomplished, as though he’d achieved something great. Listening to her gulp in air, he wasn’t sure she’d agree that they’d achieved something damn near miraculous.

But he wasn’t done, not yet.

Pushing her to the brink of destruction was the first step, now he just had to follow through.

“Still with me, Tabby Cat?”

Her head rolled toward the sound of his voice. “Mmmn.”

“Feel better?”

“Nuh.” She huffed softly. “Uh.”

“Can you remember your safeword?”

Tabitha grunted and mumbled something that resembled, “Not this again.”

“This again,” he told her, keeping his smile in check. “Tell me.”

“Rory.”

Carefully, he lifted his hand off her pussy, relieved when she didn’t rip into him more thoroughly. His arms were already stinging where sweat settled into his wounds. With the lightest touch, he used nothing but his fingertips to trace the swell of her labia, incredibly grateful to find her aroused on some deep, dark level.

She stiffened momentarily, but the fight had taken too much out of her. Though she trembled, he had no doubt if she decided he posed a threat, she’d find the energy from somewhere to stop him in his tracks.

Around and around, he played with her. Ever so gently, listening for any noise she made that might be her safeword, he explored her folds. He found her clit, hidden beneath its hood at the top of her seam, and coaxed it out with feathered strokes.

Tabitha whimpered, her hips jerking.

“It’s all right, little tiger. You’re doing so well. Let me take care of you now, okay? I’ve got you.” He pressed his face into her hair, wishing he could see her face, watch her eyes up close. Moving her now, asking her to change positions, would only break this newfound unity; she was melded into him, bonded with him through sweat and blood. “This is where I need you to trust me most. I need you to hear my voice and stay with me, can you do that?”

Her legs shifted restlessly, uneasily. “I…”

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Every time he told her that, he vowed not to break his promise. “Just listen to my voice, Tabitha. Listen to the words, to the cadence. I don’t get any pleasure from you being in pain. It’s not what I need.”

He’d told her this before, he was sure, but there was never any harm in reiterating the important stuff. And this, fuck, this was important from the roots all the way to the top of the grand scheme.

Nuzzling her hair, he kissed his way down to her neck. Her skin was damp, her pulse rabbiting in fast, hard leaps beneath his lips. “Can you feel my heartbeat against your back? How steady my breathing is?”

She nodded, more of a nervous twitch.

Grit loosened his arm from across her torso, reaching down to clasp her clammy hand. He winced when she latched onto it, squeezing so hard he swore his bones ground together. “That’s a good girl. You hold onto me. As tightly as you need.”

He set his fingertips in a cage around her pussy, pressing lightly. Hoping fervently for a miracle, he dragged his middle finger along her seam, encouraging her labia to part for the intrusion. Slick, wet heat soaked his pad, and he swirled it around her clit as a reward.

She tried to sit up, double over, panic in her voice. “Stop. Grit, stop.”

Not the safeword, he thought. “Breathe, Tabby. Breathe and let me catch you. I’m not going to let you fall.” He repeated the motion, a tender swipe followed by a quick tease. “I’m stretching your limits, I know. All you have to do is say the word and everything stops. I’m going to keep pushing until you either safeword or realize I’m the guy who will always be here for you.”

She was shaking so hard her teeth were chattering. He fucking hated that her trauma ran deep enough to form scars he couldn’t dream of healing. But the wounds he could fix, he would. They’d been left open and festering for too long, her phobias so monumental it was a wonder they hadn’t pulled her down into the murky waters of hell to drown.

Her grip on his hand grew brutal.

Setting his teeth lightly on her neck, he bit down hard enough to distract her as he slid his finger into her to the first knuckle. His resolve almost weakened when she yelped like a tortured dog, but she never said his name.

Settling his thumb on her clit, he added extra stimulation as he rocked his finger in and out of her snug entrance in tiny increments. Her yelps grew louder as though all she could feel was what had been done to her before.

“Easy, little tiger. Relax for me. Remember to stay here with me. My thumb on your clit, Tabitha. My finger in this wet little pussy. No one else, just me.” Grit emphasized all the possessives. He wanted to get through the memories swamping her and remind her that Dominic no longer existed in the world outside her head. “Me and you. I promised you that, didn’t I? Are you with me?”

“Y-Yes.” Her voice clogged with tears.

“Good girl. I need you to stay here. Feel my hand in yours. Hear my voice.” With a gentle thrust, he seated his digit fully, consumed with the sudden need to have all that snug, wet heat wrapped around his cock instead. Her muscles clamped down on him, holding him prisoner. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous, Tabby. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

She strangled herself on a sob.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.” Not daring to push his luck with a second finger, he fucked her gently, curling his digit to find her g-spot. Keeping light, constant pressure on her clit, circling the roughened pad of his thumb over the distended bud, he blew out a quiet breath of relief when her hips started to ride his hand.

Hesitantly, showing her inexperience, but enough that part of her was striving to bypass the fear to chase something better.

“Take it, Tabby. Whatever you need, just take it. I’m right here.”

“I can’t.”

“Don’t be scared. It’s not going to hurt.” Juices dripped into his palm, but still she resisted. Mind versus body. She was on the goddamn edge of falling into pieces, flying high with her first orgasm, but she needed a fucking shove.

“I can’t… I don’t… No, no, Grit, I—”

Luck be damned, he decided, and eased a second finger inside her. He felt her stretch around him, heard her breath seize before it erupted in a keening cry.

Her channel was spasming around him, tiny little flutters of a growing demand for more. He flexed his wrist, trying to avoid jabbing her, crooking his fingers against the magic spot. The flutters became squeezes, rhythmically sucking him deeper as he relentlessly drove her forward.

Nothing existed but her in this moment. When he was old and on his deathbed, riddled with arthritis and plagued with a failing memory, he swore he’d lose himself in the memory of here and now.

The scent of her arousal and sweat as she fell apart for the first time in her life. How she squirmed, her head thrashing on his shoulder, her body desperately seeking a release she was afraid to take. The noises she made—fuck, these goddamn noises were such a contradiction.

Fear and pleasure.

Acceptance and denial.

“I’ve got you, Tabby. I’ve always got you. Stop fighting me and just let go. I’m with you. I’m right here.”

Relief filled him when she went still, her panicked breathing slowing to fractured gasps. He felt the orgasm coiling, gathering on the cusp of freedom, and kept the pressure on her clit, on the rough pad of flesh inside her.

Her pussy was the first to detonate, clamping down on his fingers as her head kicked back into his shoulder. A sharp, shocked cry ripped out of her at the same time as her back bowed, her legs kicking out. She rode his hand blindly, twisting to evade the orgasm, but there was no escape, no evasion.

“That’s my girl. My good fucking girl.”

Slowly, he brought her down, ignoring the temptation to take her up again. One climax after a lifetime of fearing it was enough for now. Easing his fingers from the heaven of snug, wet heat, he tormented himself with a taste of her, sucking her juices off his skin with a groan.

God help him, when he got between her thighs, he might just stay there.

Efficiently, Grit removed the onesie completely, sliding it over her limp legs and letting it drop to the floor. Wrapping her up in the blanket, he arranged her sideways on his lap so he could see her face, and made sure she was tucked in tight.

Ignoring the insistent throb of his cock trapped in his pants, he curled around her, murmuring anything and everything that came to mind simply to draw her attention back to him when she roused.

The last thing he needed was her mixing up what they’d just done together with some long-hidden memory of her father.

A shadow fell over him; he glanced up to see Elias standing an arm’s length away, eyes full of quiet approval, with a damp washcloth held out in offering. “I’ve never seen a sub cry the entire time she orgasmed.”

Guilt rammed like a fist into his sternum. “Fuck.”

Eli’s smile was sympathetic. “Cathartic release is often painful. It’s also a necessary evil. Would you like us to give you some privacy?”

“No. She’ll be more embarrassed, I think, if you’re not here.” Grit reached out and took the warm cloth. “Thanks. For everything, Elias. It’s hard finding a safety net to trust so far from home.”

“That’s something we understand,” Evander said with a laugh. “All too well. Anytime we can help out a friend in need, we do our best. That’s how friends become family.”

Grit glanced over at him, surprised to find Callie was curled on her biggest Daddy’s lap, those gorgeous gray eyes as wide as the moon, sucking on her thumb. “Handpicked family is the best kind. Did we, uh, upset Callie?”

Elias snorted and returned to his seat, giving his wife’s thigh a quick pat. “She was adamant she needed to save Tabitha when you two started your wrestling match. She’s sulking because Van wouldn’t let her join the fray.”

Gently turning Tabby’s face toward him, Grit sighed when he saw the wetness drying on her cheeks. They were still flushed with color, but the evidence of her distress was a kick to the gut, especially when he added in the reddened swelling around her eyes that had nothing to do with an orgasm.

Tenderly, he washed her face, her neck, removing every trace of tears and sweat. Once she woke, he’d get her back to their room and settle her into a nice, warm bath.

Belatedly, he realized Callie’s show was still playing, only muted. On the table in front of them, someone—Eli, at a guess—had set out a couple of bottles of water, a can of soda, and a bowl of chocolate kisses.

Well, that was the refueling part of aftercare taken care of. Now it was up to him to give Tabitha her first taste of physical and emotional aftercare. He doubted very much she’d ever experienced a kind word from Dominic after the fucker violated her, let alone anything resembling care.

“Sweetness, can you relieve Grit of the cloth and take it to the laundry basket please?” Elias asked quietly. “Get yourself a soda on the way back.”

Her thumb popped free. “Okay, Daddy.”

Eager as a puppy, she slid off Evander’s lap and hurried over to Grit. Her face was set in empathetic lines as she studied Tabitha. “Can I say something, Mr. Grit?”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

Chewing on her lip for a moment, she seemed to struggle for the right words. Taking a deep breath, she switched from Little to adult and blurted, “My father didn’t rape me, so I can’t pretend to know how that feels. But he did abuse me regularly, mentally and physically. I understand what it’s like to find a man—men,” she corrected with a shy glance at her husbands, “who push me into doing things I don’t like or want. Things like scenes with the belt or the cane,” she added, turning slightly green. “I tell myself I hate them, that they’re cruel and mean for making me face my fears, but I don’t mean it, not truly. Because when it’s over and I come out on the other side a little bit cleaner, a little more whole… I understand they do it out of love, to help me heal. She will, too, when she gets over the shock.”

He gave her a tired smile. “I hope so, Callie. I really do.”

She gave his hand a light pat before plucking the cool cloth from his fingers. “When you’ve never been loved before, it takes time to get used to it. Once she does, she’ll wonder how she ever lived without it.”

As she beamed at him and turned to skip away, Grit said her name quietly. She stopped and nailed him with those innocent eyes. “Thank you. Not just for the pep talk. For being prepared to stand up for her when she needed a friend.”

“Daddy Vander said it best—that’s how friends become family.”

He mulled that over as he curled his arms tighter around Tabitha’s limp form, rocking her slowly. The fierce trembling wracking her muscles was easing minute by minute, and he expected she’d merge from wherever she was hiding soon enough.

He’d flayed her wide open.

A woman like Tabitha, stripped and raw, would hide until she glossed over her exposed wounds and drew her strength around her like armor. In all honesty, he wasn’t anticipating sweet cuddles and calm contemplation when her eyes opened; no, he was pretty damn sure it was going to be full-out war.

Grit listened with half an ear as Evander and Elias argued in the way of spouses about what to watch next. Callie, of course, voted for more puppeteer dramatics as she plopped down on Eli’s lap this time, soda in hand.

“C’mon, little tiger,” he whispered, touching his forehead to hers. “Can’t hide forever, no matter how much you want to.”

“Grit, you want me to take a look at some of those scratches?” Evander tapped his fingertips to his own neck. “Your wildcat knows how to use those claws.”

Well, shit, he’d forgotten all about the mauling she’d given him. A quick look at his arms made him chuckle; they were marked with long, red welts from her nails, punctuated here and there by bloody dents where she’d broken the skin. “They’ll heal.”

“Hmm. What about the bites?”

Grit shrugged. “My shirt took the brunt of the one on my shoulder. Got a nice set of teeth imprints on my forearm, but no blood.”

“Serves you right,” Tabitha slurred as her head rolled restlessly.

“Sleeping beauty wakes,” he quipped, immediately bracing himself for her emotions to kick into battle mode. “Worried me for a while, little tiger.”

A disgruntled groan rumbled in her chest. “Need to go. The monster came and played his games and now the bunny’s ashamed.” She whimpered and squirmed uncomfortably as though she could break free. “The bunny’s sick, sick, sick…”

Oh hell. Shooting Evander an alarmed look, Grit was already rising with her in his arms when the first heave wrenched her stomach. The big Dom waved him back down as he launched to his feet and snagged a small trash can from the other side of the room.

Perching on the edge of the couch, Grit lowered her legs between his, sitting her up straight on his thigh. She looked horrified as another retch lurched through her, her eyes utterly mortified and bewildered at the same time.

“It’s okay, Tabby. It’s just shock and stress.” He gathered her hair in one hand as Evander set the can in front of her. “Get it all out.”

The next heave emptied her stomach. Helpless to do anything but keep the can steady and hold her hair out of the firing range, Grit nodded at Evander when he crouched down, his hand hovering over her back in question.

She jerked when the Dom set his palm lightly on her bare skin, rubbing soothing circles as she expunged her system the only way her body knew how.

Telling her she was a good girl over and over again, there wasn’t much he could do until she slumped back, breathing heavily, physically wrecked from the exertion.

Evander snagged a bottle of water and opened it, passing it to Grit.

“Take a mouthful, little tiger. Swill your mouth out and spit it into the can.”

It was a game of all hands on deck, he thought. Evander held the can steady while Grit touched the bottle to her lips. Her hands were trapped beneath the blanket, but he felt one of them grip his shirt as she sipped, swilled, and spat a half dozen times.

“I’ll get the cloth again.” Taking the can, Evander rose and stepped away, only for Callie to hand him a fresh washcloth and hurry away with the makeshift bucket. “It seems we’re going for the team effort today.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” White as a ghost and trembling, Tabitha pushed weakly against the blanket. “Bad girls go in the hole. Into the hole, into the dark.”

“Don’t apologize, little one. You’ve had a strenuous afternoon. Will you let me wash your face while Grit gets some water into you?”

She shook her head, pale eyes blind with distress. “Don’t be kind to the bad girl. She deserves a beating when she hurls. It’s a weakness, you see, so tie her to a tree, and whip her until she’s stronger than three.”

“What’s with the rhyming, Grit?” Elias asked.

“It’s a defense mechanism, I think. When she’s overwhelmed or feeling vulnerable, she drops into it. Here, Tabby, just take a deep breath and drink a little. Small sips.” He managed to slosh some into her mouth between her babblings, then a bit more, without drowning her.

Evander cupped the back of her head, quickly and gently removing the last traces of sickness in between mouthfuls while she sputtered at him. “All yours, Grit.”

“Thanks.” He was beginning to see the appeal of having more than one dominant male in a relationship. A successful triad meant many hands made light work of difficult challenges, although he wasn’t sure he could share his little tiger equally. “Drink some more, Tabitha.”

She appeared to be settling down, sucking on the bottle in small gulps. By the time she finished the water, her eyes were clearer, and the rhymes were under control.

Grit didn’t think a heavy dose of sugar in the form of soda or chocolate would make her stomach feel better; water would suffice until she was completely calm. He rubbed her back gently, pleased she was no longer quivering.

“Want to talk about what happened?” he asked when she finally finished the bottle.

“No.”

They needed to, and they both knew it. However, he was willing to wait a few hours until they were on their own again and she could express her feelings without an audience. “You are remarkable, little tiger. Thank you.”

Surprise jerked her head back, her brow scrunched into a perplexed frown. “What are you thanking me for?”

“Hmm, let’s see. For not slaughtering me or breaking any bones, for starters. For listening to me, trusting me, when every instinct was telling you I was a threat.” Contentedly, he kissed her forehead. “For letting me be the first man to touch you in a long fucking time, for making me proud. For trusting me—and yes, I’ve said it twice because it deserves the recognition.”

Beneath the blanket, her hands twisted together nervously, moving the fabric. “I’m sorry I threw up everywhere.”

“It’s okay to be sick, Tabitha. This afternoon has been a trial by fire. I’ve pushed and strained your limits, reawakened memories and emotions that weren’t pleasant for you. Fear and stress have a negative impact on the body; yours reacted by physically purging.” He gave her an easy smile, hoping to see it reflected in those perfect blue eyes. “It beats stomach ulcers, right?”

She looked horribly young and fragile in that moment. The manic arrogance, her trademark crazy fa?ade, was nowhere to be seen. Instead, it seemed like one wrong word might shatter her into unrecognizable pieces. “Do you mind if I close my eyes for a while? I’m… tired.”

She was retreating. “Do you mind if I keep holding you?”

Her throat worked as though she’d forgotten how to use her vocal cords. He caught the subtle wobble of her lower lip, the almost imperceptible glimmer of tears sheening her eyes. When she finally spoke, she was damn near hoarse. “I’d like that.”

Cradling the side of her head, Grit urged her to lay her cheek against his shirt. Running his fingers through her hair in soothing strokes, he felt her begin to relax despite her inner turmoil.

“Is she asleep?” Elias murmured a few minutes later.

Lifting his head, Grit blinked at him. He’d been lost in studying her face, watching the delicate muscles shift with her thoughts, then smooth out as she drifted away. She was heavier, her body succumbing to exhaustion that was the culmination of today and every day for the last twenty-odd years. “Yeah.”

“Good. I have a proposition for you.”

“You personally or you as a team?”

Evander grinned. “I’m just the wallet. I buy, I build. Elias is the organizer.”

“And I’m the princess!” Callie tossed in for good measure.

“The princess needs to be quiet,” Eli admonished gently, giving her a quick pinch on the thigh. “Otherwise she won’t be talking her Daddies into ordering pizza for dinner.”

She smacked her lips together, miming a zipping motion across them.

“The house we’re building for us at Serenity is semi-complete. The main areas we need to live there are done. With everything that’s been going on,” Eli continued, shooting a pointed look at Tabitha, “and will no doubt carry on until the primary threat is eliminated, we’ve decided to get out of the city. Living in a construction zone won’t be easy, but Evander and I agree it will be safer.”

“Possibly. It’s incredibly secluded, very open. Snipers would have an advantage.” Grit cocked his head. “Security will be a bitch to set up. Tabitha’s already proven how easy it is for an imposter to insinuate themselves onto your crews.”

“Yes, we realize there are several issues we need to tackle first. They’ll be dealt with over the next few weeks—hopefully with your input.”

Intrigued, Grit raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Our intention is for Serenity to be one of the safest resorts for the BDSM community in terms of privacy. We don’t want six-foot-high fences and canine teams stalking the perimeters. We’re going to need someone to manage the security aspects of the club; personally, we’d like someone who isn’t just skilled in that side of things, but who also has a vested interest in what the club stands for.” Elias rubbed his chin thoughtfully on the top of Callie’s head. “Someone who’d be open to becoming a Master once we open for business.”

“I see. You want me to reach out to my contacts?”

Evander snorted. “Avalon isn’t just a kink community, Grit. It’s a family affair. That’s what I’m striving for with Serenity. We want unity, friendship, that familial bond that doesn’t come through the blood but through connection. The kind of connection that we three,” he said, leaning forward to lay his hand on Callie’s thigh, “feel with you.”

Grit rocked back, honestly surprised by the revelation. “Whoa, just hang on a minute. I know I’ve been undercover on the site for some time now, but this is the longest time we’ve spent together in a non-work capacity. Isn’t that a bit soon to be making business decisions?”

Dark eyes gleamed with humor. “I made one of my biggest life decisions after spending three hours with Callie. One night of roulette and there was no doubt in my mind that she was my everything. Look where we are now. Right, Eli?”

The Brit simply smiled. “I do believe it took me less than three hours to come to that conclusion.”

“Well, shit.” Shaking his head, Grit blew out a breath. “I don’t know what to say.”

“We know you’re happy working for Atticus, and we don’t want to rock the boat by stealing you away from him if you’re not one hundred percent on board. You have a life in Phoenix, one ultimately more exciting given your travel opportunities and the nature of your job.” Elias spread his hands, rolling his eyes when Callie took that as a cue to twist around and cuddle into his chest. “Should you decide to retire for whatever reason or you just fancy a change of direction, we wanted to offer you an alternative.”

He was happy with his job, Grit thought. He loved the thrill of the hunt, and maybe some part of him liked wet work—although not as much as Tabitha did. But he was reaching the point in his career where age began to influence his choices.

Atticus was continually selecting and training new recruits for the firm. That was a necessity. Mercs got injured—both temporarily and permanently. They occasionally died doing their jobs, sacrificing themselves for the greater good. He knew for a fact there was a high percentage of trainees who didn’t make the grade, and a few more usually quit after the first mission or two.

While Grit had invaluable skills, it might only be a few years before the younger generations were in more demand.

Besides that, he now had to take Tabitha into consideration. She wasn’t just a project to be conquered quickly and cast aside. There were… strings involved, he thought, resisting the urge to rub his hand over his heart. Entanglements, emotions, a nagging desire to reel her in close to his side and ensure she stayed there by whatever means necessary.

What would it hurt to hear Eli and Evander out?

“Go on.”

“All right, our initial thoughts are that you’d be in charge of security. Complete charge, with a rather substantial budget, access to whatever tech you required, and the opportunity to select your own team. Van and I would retain overall control, but we’d essentially be leaving you to our own devices.” Elias glanced at his husband and got a nod in return. “As a club Master, you’d have access to all areas. Lifetime membership, insurance, a hefty salary which can be negotiated. One of the residential cabins would be reserved for you for the length of your employment.”

“Which we hope would be considerable,” Evander added.

Fuck, it was tempting. “Tabitha?”

“Tabitha would be welcome.” Elias said it as though he was insulted they’d be anything but welcoming to her. “She’s yours every bit as much as Callie is ours. We’d turn down any offer, no matter how lucrative, if one of the terms demanded was that she be excluded. We expect no less from you.”

“Some part of you sees us as family already, Grit. We wouldn’t be here now, extending this invitation, after watching you share an incredibly intimate scene with your sub if you didn’t. Family trusts family.”

That was undeniably true. While he was short on options for trustworthy contacts in the area to act as chaperones for such scenes, he admitted he’d have done it in the privacy of his own room before exposing Tabitha to strangers he couldn’t guarantee would protect her.

Inhaling quietly, he nodded. “I can’t commit to anything right now. This needs time and thought so I make the right decision for everyone. But,” he said slowly, “I’m happy to offer my services for the time being to get whatever security you require up and running.”

“We appreciate it.” Apparently satisfied that the business part of the evening was concluded, Elias nipped playfully at Callie’s shoulder. “It appears we’re having pizza for dinner, probably accompanied by beer and another movie. Would you like to join us?”

What the hell, Grit thought. What was that British saying he’d heard Eli mutter under his breath more than once?

In for a penny, in for a pound.

*

Tabitha

God help her, she hurt.

Religion was non-existent in her world. Growing up, she’d been taught that Dominic was her God, with Rita standing close second. Their will, their commands, their laws were the only ones she needed to abide by, and they would strike her down where she stood if she even thought about disobeying them.

Dominic once dedicated an entire day of lessons to the religions of the world her future victims believed in, and how to use their rituals and traditions and times of worship against them.

No, she’d never believed in God, but maybe today was going to change that.

Pressing her fist to her heart where the incessant ache wouldn’t stop, Tabitha turned the music in her SUV up until the frantic, banging beat almost deafened her. Her brain was stuck in a rhyming loop—Don’t leave, time to grieve—and had been since she snuck out of Grit’s bed, room, life an hour before dawn.

Honestly, it was a miracle she’d been able to focus on catching a cab to the airport and getting on the right flight to return to Phoenix.

She hated he was going to wake alone. Maybe he’d think she just went to the bathroom or was watching TV, but once he went into the kitchen and found the note… well, then he’d know she was gone and wasn’t going back.

If I could’ve loved anyone, it would’ve been you.

A terrible sentiment, really, but he’d understand. She’d told him she didn’t have a heart, she didn’t know how to love. It wasn’t what she’d been bred for, and certainly hadn’t been part of her curriculum in the school of Fairfax.

It was honest though, because honesty was all she could offer him.

Taking the long route to the small apartment she secretly leased, Tabitha made sure to avoid her brother’s neighborhood. Both Jasper and Anarchy would be heading out to Heisler headquarters to start the workday, and she didn’t want them to know she was back in town.

Atticus would mobilize his entire platoon of merc soldiers to bring her in, and she really wasn’t in the mood for bloodshed this early in the day.

That thought depressed her; she was usually in the mood no matter what time of day or night, which just went to show how fucked up her time with Grit had made her.

No, it was better to keep her head down, get in and out before she was spotted, and forget the last few months of her life, along with the man who dominated her thoughts.

Shifting gingerly in her seat, the echo of Grit’s fingers working inside her still plaguing her hours after she surrendered, she wound her way through the streets at a sedate pace, keeping five miles under the speed limit.

Because she was paranoid, she circled the block housing her apartment three times before pulling into a vacant spot outside the liquor store six buildings down. She pulled her shiny new Beretta from the glove department and loaded it with ammo from the box she’d tucked into the middle console.

She’d taken precautions when leasing this shithole, but her sister-in-law was a fucking demon on a keyboard. If there was a welcoming party inside, it wouldn’t come as a surprise.

Well, not for her, anyway.

Armed and ready for anything, Tabitha slipped out of the SUV, tucked the gun into the back of her waistband and covered it with the light jacket she’d worn for traveling, and began strolling down the sidewalk.

Already the concrete was shimmering with heat, promising an uncomfortably hot day. One of the reasons why she preferred taking care of business during the night in hotter climates was so she could sleep her way through the worst of the heat.

Although a rocking tan was nothing to complain about, she supposed. She was rather pleased with the golden sheen her skin had picked up during her stint at the construction site.

The barred security gate serving as a front door to her apartment building squeaked open on badly rusted hinges after several hard tugs. Inside, she was instantly assaulted by the scent of urine, both old and fresh. There was a lot of new and… inventive artwork on the walls, mostly spray paint accompanied by a few splatters of dried blood and a couple of dents in the plaster.

Taking the elevator was literally an invitation to be raped—it was regularly occupied by a vicious homeless man who went by the name Mangle. He tended to beat and mug anyone who stepped inside what he considered his territory, and upped his game to include rape if an unlucky woman fell into his trap.

Tabitha had made his acquaintance the day she moved her stuff into the apartment. A brief and pointed meeting of minds where she’d done some mangling of her own, leaving him curled in a puddle of his own piss, cradling the remnants of his crushed balls.

Mangle gave her a wide berth whenever they happened across one another now.

With the stupid loop of Don’t leave, time to grieve on repeat, she trudged up the grungy stairs on high alert. Her eyes scanned the shadows for threats, tracking everything down to the scurry of the building’s resident family of rats.

On the first floor, she stepped over a young girl sprawled out on the beige carpet, stoned as fuck and snoring like a drunk on a bender. Someone had been busy writing an expletive-riddled love note on the wall above a scattered handful of used condoms.

If and when she returned from Ireland, she was definitely going to find a new place, somewhere with a bit more class… and a health and hygiene code.

She checked the doorframe to her apartment, noting the almost hairlike slivers of clear tape she’d attached to the door and jamb were intact. Pulling a lone key from her pocket, she unlocked the door and warily pushed it open, just in case.

It felt empty, which was always a good sign. The hairs on the back of her neck and arms didn’t rise, and she couldn’t hear anything but the rumble of traffic out on the street and the junkie’s snores from down the hall.

Needing quiet, Tabitha shut the door and leaned back against it, fighting the ridiculous urge to cry.

No man was worth her tears, she told herself, and she’d given Grit too many of hers. He was a big boy, he wasn’t going to pine for her simply because she’d upped and left him in the middle of the night.

Chances were her note was scrunched up into a ball and thrown into the trash, forgotten. He’d be packing his bags, eager to get home after a shit assignment, and thanking his lucky stars he’d escaped the insanity of her with all his faculties still intact.

In a week, she’d be a footnote in his report to Atticus, if he even bothered to mention her at all.

It was for the best. Sucking back sniffles and swallowing around the tightness in her throat, Tabitha straightened and reached deep for her inner strength. She had shit to do; Irish weasels to track down and skin alive, walls to rebuild with extra fortification, trying to find something productive to do with her pathetically empty life.

Maybe she could take up knitting, that would keep her brain busy, right?

Shaking off her melancholy mood, she strolled over to the upholstered pouffe by the small, barred window and flipped it over. A quick tug on the black material on the underside broke apart the Velcro, revealing the secure lockbox stored inside.

She pressed her thumb to the identification pad and waited for the sensor to verify she had access, lifting the lid when the locks snicked open. When it came to her personal documents, she’d spared no expense in making sure they were accessible yet protected.

A dozen packets dropped onto the carpet when she tipped the box up, her fingertips skimming over each one until she found the one marked with VII. Returning the rest back to the box, and hiding it once again, she opened the packet and let her future fall into her hands.

Passport, birth certificate, credit cards, wedding ring, photos.

Everything she needed to rebuild herself for the umpteenth time was right here in her lap, and she couldn’t summon her usual enthusiasm for the ruse. Normally she’d be all business, almost excited to reinvent herself, but today she was just… flat.

With a sigh, she shoved all the paperwork back into the packet and got to her feet, setting the pouffe into its rightful place. Giving the rest of the shitty apartment a scathing glance, she moved purposefully into the small bedroom and raided her closet for the appropriate clothes a woman who was married to a fat, balding banker would wear.

Conservative, she supposed. The photo of her ‘husband’ was not really an inspiration for anything flashy or overstated. Packing a suitcase with plain, drab items of clothing took only a few minutes, along with careful selection of jewelry, wigs, and a sad-looking purse that really had seen better days.

Makeup, contact lenses, and a few lotions and potions were thrown in as well.

All done, thank Christ. Now she could get out of here, maybe toss a match as she left and watch the whole sordid pit of iniquity go up in plumes of smoke and billowing curtains of fire.

Yes, that cheered her mood immensely.

Until she opened the door, suitcase in hand, and was met with a fist in her goddamn face.

It was a good shot for a sucker punch, she thought as she stumbled back a step, the suitcase hitting the floor with a thud. Knuckles to her cheekbone, impacting hard enough to snap her head around. Pain detonated through her skull, popping behind her eyes until she lost her vision for a second.

“Thought it was you,” a familiar voice crooned. “Saw you sneaking up the stairs and thought to myself, it’s about time someone brought that uppity cunt some payback.”

Tabitha shook off the pain, waggling her jaw as she rolled her shoulders. She tasted blood, her own fucking blood, and it infuriated her. A snarl rumbled in her chest as she turned her head to the door and glared at the man blocking her way out. “Mangle, did I not teach you what happens to heavy-handed assholes when they beat on women?”

He wasn’t an attractive man by any means. Even if he took a shower and dressed in clean clothes, it wouldn’t make any difference to what he was beneath the skin; dirty, evil, rotten. A lot like his teeth, she mused when he bared them at her in a wolfish smile.

“Oh, did you ever. My balls were fucking black for weeks. That’s why when I saw your tight ass scurrying up the stairs, I went and got me some reinforcement. See, I made some new friends. Friends who don’t take shit from some jumped-up whore without giving a whole load in return.” Grinning, he reached into the pocket of his ratty jacket and pulled out a set of knuckle dusters.

Big, thick, brass.

The kind the mob used to smash a person’s face in until it was nothing but bone crumbs and blood.

He slid them on, crossing the threshold and stepping to the side. Cold green eyes, alive with sadistic pleasure, roamed over her as four massive hulks bulled their way into her place.

“Oh, a party.” Pretending to check her watch, Tabitha shrugged. “Don’t really have time to play, but I guess I can oblige.” She feathered her fingers over the swelling rapidly consuming her cheekbone. “Seeing as you asked so nicely.”

One of the beefcakes snickered. “Got some balls on her, don’t she?”

They all wore gang tattoos, she noted idly. Left hand side of the neck, two inches below the ear. Not one she recognized, but Mangle associating with any gang at all did not bode well for the women in the neighborhood.

“Mine are much bigger than yours, I assure you.” Flexing her fingers, she closed them into fists. “I’d give you a chance to leave, but if you’re stupid enough to let this moron con you into coming here, you’re too stupid to take the warning and go.”

“Gonna cut her up real pretty,” one of the other goons spat, pulling out a short knife with a wide blade. “She don’t need arms and legs for fucking.”

An itch started between her shoulder blades as she watched the other three draw their weapons slowly. She was up against the knuckle dusters, the hunting knife, a nasty-looking switchblade, several feet of thin chain, and an extending baton that was going to hurt like a fucking bitch.

Of course, she could put at least two of them down like dogs with a bullet to the brain before the others tackled her, but honestly, where was the fun in that? Besides, while the residents of the building probably wouldn’t give a shit about gunshots going off, she couldn’t guarantee that the rest of the block would cover their ears and go about their business.

The Beretta wouldn’t get its christening ceremony today, more’s the pity.

Shifting her weight from foot to foot, she muttered, “The crazy whore is going to war with five cowardly little pricks. Dead men walking, no more talking, send them home in boxes without their dicks.”

“The fuck?”

Tabitha smiled, letting what raged inside her shine in her eyes. It really was a freeing experience, giving herself free rein against bigger, stronger opponents. They all outweighed her by at least one-fifty, and the smallest of them towered over her by a foot.

The guy with the switchblade attacked first, using his size and weight as intimidation. The blade swung, fast and admirably accurate, at her face. She jerked back, bringing her arm up to smack into his, curling hers around it and spinning herself into him. As her back rapped into his chest, she brought his arm over her breasts, bending and hoisting him over to land on his back.

The knife clattered to the floor.

Fire whipped over her shoulders, bringing memories of Dominic surging to the surface. Even through her clothes, the baton bit deep, raining down blows on her in quick succession.

She dropped to her knees, slamming her elbow into the throat of the man on the floor, and snatched up the switchblade. She liked the weight of it, the balance, and tested it as she spun it in her hand and drove it through the boot nearest to her.

With one man fighting to breathe and another pinned to the floor, she let the pained cries and wheezing breaths fuel her bloodlust. After all, this was what she’d been created for, wasn’t it?

More blows hammered against her back, her sides. She took a hit to the hip that made her want to curl into a ball and scream, but there wasn’t time to dwell on the pain. Rolling to the left, she came up onto her feet, narrowly missing another sucker punch from Mangle. The brass knuckles whispered along her jawline, catching her ear.

Teeth bared, Tabitha struck him three times—nose, throat, stomach—and slammed her knee into his face as he bent over double.

“What the fuck is this bitch on?”

“I’ve got the cunt.”

Cold metal dropped over her head, hooking around her throat under her jaw. The links of the chain bit into her skin as she was lifted off her feet, her neck taking the brunt of her weight, cutting off her air.

Kicking madly, she battered her heels against the thug’s knees and shins, but he used his leverage to tighten the chain. Feeling her lungs begin to strain, she lashed out when Mangle came at her, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, booting him hard enough to save him some money on dental work.

Rotten teeth hit the floor like broken, blackened pebbles.

Thrashing, Tabitha reached up and back, blindly groping for her captor’s face. She sliced into his cheeks with her nails, clawing at his neck, his forehead. Anywhere she could reach as her struggles began to wane.

His laugh was utterly depraved. “Sometimes you just gotta throttle a bitch into submission.”

She tried again, fighting the heaviness in her arms. This time, when her nails skated down his forehead, she forced herself to focus and find his eye sockets. He roared when she jammed her nail into the soft globe of his eyeball, the sound escalating to a scream as she jabbed again and felt it pop.

Wet liquid streamed over her hand, down her arm, an instant before she crashed unceremoniously to her knees. The chain clattered beside her in a musical jangle, shocking her into taking a breath.

Fuck, that hurt. Her throat felt as though she’d swallowed razor blades, the delicate column of her esophagus swelling from the trauma.

“Fucking bitch!” A heavy boot connected with her stomach, flipping her onto her back. Another kick to her ribs cracked something, and the third stole what little breath she had left.

Staying perfectly still, Tabitha tried to assess the situation while she had a chance. Mangle was down and out. The man she’d blinded was howling, trying to put pressure on his perforated eyeball, while the guy she’d elbowed in the throat was writhing in an attempt to breathe.

The asshole with the knife through his boot had pulled it out and was conferring with the idiot wielding the baton.

Two left, she told herself. Just two left to disable, then she could dispatch them all and get the fuck out of dodge. But by everything holy, she fucking hurt in a way she couldn’t quite get under control.

Grunting painfully, she clambered to her feet, swaying slightly as her head protested. Ibuprofen wasn’t going to do the trick this time; she’d have to hit the heavy shit to function anything like a human being.

Two pairs of eyes—one unremarkable green, the other an ugly shade of brown—watched her with surprise. Perhaps they weren’t used to their victims standing after one of their beatings, but they weren’t to know she’d spent years receiving worse, and being expected to continue on as normal afterwards.

Pain stabbed down her side as she lifted her arm to point at the three wounded men. “They’re already dead,” she rasped in a tight voice, squeezing the words out through her bruised throat. “That’s the price they’ll pay. You two have a choice to make.”

The fuckwit with green eyes leered at her. “I’m gonna take your ass, girl. Make you scream for your daddy, then watch my boys take you apart, hole by hole.”

She grinned ferally, hiding the wince as her cheek throbbed. “Boy, my daddy did that a long time a-fucking-go.” She laughed, the sound deeper thanks to her near-strangulation. “He died choking on his cock after I cut it off and shoved it down his fucking throat.”

“She’s on something,” the fuckwit said when his friend blanched and took a step back. “Full of bullshit. The bitch can hardly stand up straight.”

That was true. Sheer willpower was keeping her on her feet, but it was her training and will to survive that was going to bring her out on top.

“What’s it going to be? Do you have dicks to choke on or are you just giant pussies?” she goaded, bracing herself for the next round.

They came at her as one.

She blocked a punch, took one to the lower abdomen that almost made her vomit. The baton turned her world to ash and smoke, striking wherever it could. Letting the pain blossom, consume her, she attacked with all the rage she could muster.

Her feral animosity took him by surprise, and she managed to drive him back with fists and feet. When he swung the baton at her head, she caught it in her hand, crying out as agony exploded in her bones, and smashed her boot into his balls with enough force she felt something pop.

He screamed, relinquishing his hold on his weapon, collapsing onto his knees.

Tabitha whirled to face the last man, adrenaline pumping through her like morphine now, flooding her veins so the pain ebbed into the background. She tried to block the knife with her new toy, but it skidded along the metal and carved a deep line through her bicep.

He hacked at her, fury clouding his aim, and she managed to fend off the majority of his thrusts before they made contact. Panting, wanting to be done with this shit, she took a step back, left herself open, and as he came after her with triumph in his gaze, slashed the baton across his face.

It stunned him for only a moment, but it was enough.

She brought the rod down on his weapon hand, sending the knife flying, then caught him across the throat with a vicious backhand. Vibrating with the high of an impending kill, she tossed the baton aside and cradled his skull in her hands.

Breaking a neck was easy when the training was ingrained in her. The right angle, the correct pressure, and a certain amount of strength was required. She had all three at her disposal now, her blood pumping so fucking hard, she felt as though she could tear apart the world with her bare hands.

Snarling like a beast, she twisted his head until his neck snapped with a sharp crack. The thump of his body hitting the floor was deeply, thrillingly satisfying.

Blood began to drip off the ends of her fingertips from the wounds on her arms. The smell of it stirred the need for more, to watch it run in rivers and sweeten the air.

Staggering over to the knife, she bent and picked it up, eyeing the remaining men in various states of agony. Through the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears, she thought she heard sirens, and cursed under her breath.

If they were coming here, if some good Samaritan had called the cops, she didn’t have time for elaborate kills. She didn’t have enough energy left to outrun the police, and there was no choice but to find somewhere secure to hunker down and heal for a few days before heading to Ireland.

Thoroughly pissed she was being cheated out of some much needed playtime, she muttered sulkily under her breath as she moved from asshole to fuckwit to jackass, giving them a far too easy death by rolling them onto their fronts and opening their throats.

“What the fuck are you?” the last one demanded, trying to crawl away from her.

“Something you really shouldn’t have fucked with,” was her flat reply.

When she was done, the sirens were getting far too close. She stumbled over to the pouffe and retrieved the security box, wedging it into her suitcase. It took her a minute to find a long, lightweight jacket that wouldn’t look out of place in the heat; she needed something to conceal what injuries she could.

Leaving five dead bodies behind, she grabbed her suitcase and shut the door behind her. There was nothing she could do about her DNA being at the scene—while she’d always been careful in that regard, there was too much of her blood all over the room, her fingerprints on the weapons, probably a few hairs scattered around for the crime scene techs to find.

The cops would tie her to the name she’d used to rent the room, which meant yet another alias was burned, but by God, it was fucking worth it, knowing Mangle would never get the opportunity to terrorize and rape another woman ever again.

Tucking her hands into the sleeves of the jacket, she hoped she wasn’t leaving too much of a blood trail in her wake. She navigated the stairs with care, feeling a little lightheaded as she descended. The heat from outside punched into her when she opened the door, but she forged ahead, squinting into the bright sunlight.

The sirens were drawing ever closer, echoing off the buildings.

Hurrying to the SUV, Tabitha threw the suitcase onto the back seat. She slid gingerly into the driver’s seat, enclosing herself into the safety of the vehicle, and while her body still hummed with the effects of the adrenaline rush, pulled out into traffic as a cop car screamed to a halt outside the building.

It was a close call, she mused, but she’d had closer.

The question now was, where the hell did she go? Most hotels and motels would report her to the cops or call the EMTs if she showed up looking like… well, like she’d been a few rounds with a gang of assholes.

The hospital was a hell fucking no, for a number of reasons.

There wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance she was going near her brother’s place or asking Atticus for help.

The only place she wanted to be was the one place she couldn’t go.

So she just drove.