Page 15

~ SAM ~

“I’ll rephrase: Were there ever moments when you got it wrong, Mister Priestley? Or perhaps chose to push a boundary?”

“No.”

“Do I need to remind you that you’re under oath?” His eyes burned and it felt good because this asshole was a prick. “You were convicted of sexual assault, Sir.”

That deflated me like a pricked balloon. “I was a different man then. The activities we’re discussing occurred after my prison time.”

His eyes narrowed. But his aggravation was way too personal. He was aching to do what I did, and it showed.

I would have laid money he didn’t have the discipline, though. He was so buttoned up at work, I bet he’d get out on the prowl and go full-stalker. Maybe rapist. Get too full of his own importance—like that fucker Ronald. I’d have to look into this guy on the side, see if there were any charges or accusations in his past that had been hastily covered up.

“I can assure you that after my prison time I never once overstepped a boundary, or engaged in a practice with a woman who wasn’t consenting,” I said calmly, smiling. “Not. Once.”

“Did you have sex with them?”

Dammit. I stiffened, not because of the question, but because there was a sharp little inhale from Bridget and fuck .

“Yes,” I admitted reluctantly. “Early on, after I got out, there were some. Yes.”

“How many clients have you had since you left prison, Mister Priestley?”

“I haven’t counted.”

“Okay, how about in the last two years? I’ll allow you to estimate, just give us an idea.”

I glowered at him. “At least six. Maybe eight. I would have to check.”

He nodded. “And you’re saying that none of those women ever felt that you took things too far?”

“No.”

“How can you know?”

I frowned. “I assure you, they’d make it very clear if I did.”

“Did they run when you hunted them?”

“Yes.”

“Did they struggle, Mister Priestley, when you took them down?”

“Yes, but as I said, that was all part of the—”

“Did they say no? Bite? Scream when you inserted your penis into their bodies?”

I flinched. It sounded so sick when he put it that way. “Yes,” I growled. “But again, that was the plan.”

“Were they sometimes fighting you so hard that they were injured in the process?”

“Objection—asked and answered. He’s harassing the witness.”

“Yes,” I ground out.

The lawyer shook his head, but kept his eyes on me. “Mister Priestley, you are describing activities in which you stalk, attack, and rape women—”

“It’s not rape when they asked for it!”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth I sank back in my chair because I knew… The lawyer smiled and everyone in the room shifted in their chairs. He let the words hang in the air so they were left there, looping in everyone’s heads. Fuck.

She asked for it… she asked for it… she asked for it…

“I mean she literally asked for it,” I growled. I could feel Bridget’s eyes locked on the side of my face. I wanted to meet that gaze, to plead with her—she understood this!—but I couldn’t let this guy leave it hanging there. “These women wanted to be taken. When the interaction was done I gave them aftercare—made sure they were patched up and we talked about what worked for her and what didn’t, what she’d like to change for the next one. It wasn’t rape because she’d given consent beforehand.”

The lawyer leaned forward. “How do you know, Mister Priestley?”

“Because I was there for the conversations and—”

“No, sir, I mean, in the heat of the moment. If a woman changed her mind—perhaps she got hurt, or just didn’t like it. How would you know? It appears to me that everything you’re describing is a crime—a crime she may have agreed to the day before, but what if she changed her mind? What if her struggles were real? What if her screams weren’t faked? What if she said no and meant it?”

“We had a safeword,” I said firmly. “At any time—even before the hunt started, or while it was underway—she only had to text me that word, or say it, and I would stop. Completely. That was her safety. That’s how I knew.”

The lawyer nodded. I thought he’d argue, but he didn’t. Something felt off. He sat back in his chair like he’d gotten what he wanted and I frowned. I looked at my lawyer, but he was staring at the guy across the table.

That guy flipped pages in his folder, then asked another question very casually. But when he flicked his eyes up to me his gaze glinted with satisfaction.

“And during the months and years you undertook these practices you were simultaneously working as a… ministry leader in the prisons as well, is that true?”

Oh, God. “Yes.”

“The religion you ascribe to condemns sex outside of marriage, does it not?”

“Objection—relevance.”

The lawyer shot a look at mine. “He’ll answer, because this goes to whether or not he’s good at lying—consistently, and in the face of pressure from influential groups.”

I blew out a breath. I wasn’t going to lie. But I also knew how it would play. Fuck .

Then the lawyer looked at me again. “Mister Priestley, please answer the question.”

“Yes,” I said reluctantly. “It was a battle, especially at first. When I first got out of prison it was the first time I was walking through the world with God. It took some time to… shift my habits,” I said bluntly. “But I was always working towards finding a balance. A way that I could use my… practices to help people.”

The lawyer’s brows popped up. “You’re saying being a Primal Dom doesn’t contradict God’s moral code?”

“Objection!”

“I’ll rephrase: Please explain to me how you believe you could be both a minister of God, and a Primal Dom without… being in the wrong?”

“God met me where I was at. I can do the same for others. If I approached a woman on the street and asked her if she had fantasies and was considering killing herself, she’d run screaming. But putting myself out there as a Primal Dom, a woman who struggles with self-destruction and trauma will come to me. And when she realizes I’m not going to take advantage, that I’m listening and can be trusted… well, that’s the whole point. I can take her to meet her fears in a healthy way. And bring God with me while I do it.”

The lawyer snorted. “Healthy?”

“Objection—”

I didn’t care, I answered him, because this was the battle for every person who ever knew God, whether he realized it or not. “God never condemns sexual desire—He condemns sexual intimacy in an unsafe relationship that He defines as marriage. Most of the guys who are Primal are in it for the power trip. They’ve got issues and they’re using the kink to feel empowered. I know I was. But some actually want to connect—and there’s incredible intimacy in a relationship when you’re pushing boundaries and building trust together. Over time I found the balance—the women learned to trust me, and I didn’t breach that trust.”

“Yet, you were having sex with them.”

“Not the last couple years, no.”

That set the lawyer back. His eyes narrowed. “You just said— ”

“You asked me about the early ones and I’ll admit I made some mistakes—not with their boundaries, but with mine. As I honed my goal and became pickier and… I figured it out. It stopped being about the sexual thrill, and started being about helping women who needed someone to give them a safe place to face their fear and powerlessness.”

His jaw rolled. “That’s a very interesting perspective, Mister Priestley. Tell me, what agreement did you have in place with Bridget Reynolds?”

My jaw went tight. “She initially asked that there be no rules.”

“Did you have sex with her during those weeks and months you two were… engaging?”

“No.”

“But you did have sex with the other women?”

“Years before. Some of them. The later clients were less about sex and more about trauma. Their focus was on… well, most of them were engaging in suicidal ideation. I wanted to help them see that they had a life to live. That didn’t need to involve sex. But what contact we had was all consensual. Clearly defined and agreed beforehand. Even the sexual stuff.”

“But not with Bridget?”

“No. Her situation was unique. I was forced to put boundaries in place for her to keep myself safe. But she didn’t want to set any boundaries on me.”

“So you were free to do anything with her?”

“No.”

“But you said she set no boundaries for you.”

“She didn’t. But I did. God did. I had very clear boundaries for myself. But those weren’t discussed between Bridget and me.”

“Give me an example.”

I huffed. “Well, to start, I wouldn’t have had sex with her.”

“Why not?”

“Because, God doesn’t want me to sleep with anyone who isn’t my wife. And I’m trying to do this right.”

“You just said you did do that with other women.”

“Objection—asked and answered. You’re badgering, Counsel. ”

But my lawyer didn’t tell me not to answer, which meant I had to. I sighed.

“I’m going to keep saying this: I was still having sex with women years ago. In recent years, I haven’t. I refined things, grew some self-restraint, changed my approaches… The clients I had over the past few years I did not have sex with.”

“Did you have any sexual contact with those women—touching, that sort of thing?”

I clenched my teeth. “Yes.”

“And did the women fight that contact?”

“Sometimes, initially—it’s part of the takedown. But by the end… no.”

“The end?”

I sighed because his eyes were glinting again. He was going to make me say it.

“By the end, when they orgasmed, they had submitted. They weren’t fighting anymore. That was the entire point.”

“The orgasm?”

“The submission,” I growled.

In the corner of my eye I saw Bridget squirm and her head drop so her hair hid her face. My stomach plummeted. She had to know she was different. She had to understand—

“I want to be certain that I am clear on what you’re telling me: You hunted women, were often violent. They fought you. And somehow, that culminated in sexual contact which often resulted in them having an orgasm?”

“Yes.”

“Please explain.”

I gave the lawyer a flat look. “Are you looking for tips?”

My lawyer cleared his throat and I clawed a hand through my hair. But the man across the table was unrelenting. “Mister Priestley, you’re describing violent encounters that end in sexual climax.”

“Yes.”

“Even though the women were often wounded?”

“I always provided aftercare—we always discussed it later—”

“Sir, I can shoot a man, then rush him to hospital. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t violent or an offense to shoot him in the first place. ”

“I didn’t shoot anyone,” I growled. “I didn’t use any weapons on any of my clients. Ever.”

“Except Miss Reynolds?”

I glowered at him and looked at my lawyer, hoping there was a way to get out of this, but we always knew it was coming down to that night.

“That was… a unique set of circumstances.”

“Did you, or did you not bring a weapon to hunt Miss Reynolds the night you were arrested.”

“Yes, but that was only because she was in crisis.”

“What kind of crisis?”

“She wanted to die. I needed to confront her with what she wanted, to show her that it wasn’t the answer. I never intended to use the knife on her—only make her believe that I would. I wanted to snap her out of that spiral. Get her fighting for herself.”

“Don’t they all fight for themselves? Didn’t you tell us that was the point?”

“Bridget had stopped fighting—she was trying to die. I’d been trying to convince her not to do this for weeks.”

The lawyer gave a pinched smile. “You had an agreement with her as Primal Dom that involved killing her. But when you spoke to her as a minister, you tried to convince her not to die?”

“Yes,” I said, frustrated. “I was trying to convince her that was the wrong answer. I almost got her, then something happened. I don’t know what—but it had to do with the FBI. I just didn’t know it at the time. That night I brought the weapon to wake her up. As soon as she was paying attention, I threw the knife away and showed her who I was—before I even knew the cops were there.”

The man across the table smiled and sat back in his chair, suddenly very relaxed. “I think that’s all our questions for today. Thank you, Mister Priestley.”

I was confused when my lawyer cursed. But then I sagged back in my chair as the words I’d said ran through my head.

I’d done exactly what they told me not to do: Admitted that I had come for her as Cain.

Shit.

~ brIDGET ~

I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. I’d barely slept. I was already tense. And running late—and of course Jeremy was on my ass about that. But then I saw Sam and all I wanted to do was stare. And finally I had a reason to just watch him.

For a while it was brilliant. He did so good. And it was such a relief to be close. Right there. Hearing his voice.

When he first started talking about hunting and take downs and aftercare, all I saw was the nights he’d come for me. It made me warm and achy.

At one point, he growled like Cain and a bolt of need shot through me.

But then they made him talk about the other women and it just destroyed me.

Suddenly, all those memories I had were replaced. Not Sam—he was still there. Still strong and clever and thrilling. But it was no longer me he was chasing.

All those frustrated desires I’d had, all the ways he’d touched me and got me off… and then later, when he finally did have sex with me.

Image after image. Memory after memory.

Sam and a blond. Sam and a redhead. Sam and a woman who looked like me but wasn’t me.

I could see it all in high resolution. And every time he entered her, every time her body shook, something inside me died.

By the time the questioning was over, I’d stopped hearing him. Stopped watching. I was just sitting there waiting for it to end, trying desperately to push the images away. Reminding myself that it was all before me. That I’d probably had as many partners as he had. Maybe more. I was no blushing innocent myself .

But I knew… I knew what I did with those others was simple thrill. When Sam talked about building intimacy and trust…

God, I was so fucking jealous it stole my breath.

There were women walking this earth who trusted him. Who knew he was good. Who would rely on him to save them if they ever needed it. Women who understood him before I did. Who probably still wanted him—why wouldn’t they?

And there I was, running off half-cocked, tempting him into danger and…

When the lawyers said it was done and Sam turned to look at me I couldn’t even meet his eyes. I had to get past this. Had to put it aside. I knew it wasn’t fair. I knew it wasn’t his fault those women had feelings for him. But that was way worse than sex. And I couldn’t stop feeling it. My skin itched. My lungs didn’t want to inflate.

Jeremy leaned over my shoulder, but I just turned and whispered to him, “I have to go.” Then I shoved out of that chair and fled the room.

For the first time since all this started, I wanted to talk to Gerald. He’d have some perspective, I was sure. He could help me turn it around in my mind—

But then it hit me: How could I tell Gerald that I was jealous of Sam having sex with other women? He didn’t know we were married. He couldn’t know.

I stumbled going down the stairs outside, but caught myself and ran to the car.

I still didn’t have answers—or peace—when I got home.