Unforgettable (Black Rose Doms Book 1) Page 6

  Just as I’m preparing to cross the street a big black SUV stops in front of me. For a moment I am scared half to death thinking that I’ve been found. I mentally kick myself for being so reckless in going to the bank. I nearly faint dead away when Matthew opens the back door.

  It takes my brain a few seconds to catch up. What is he doing here? How did he know where to find me? Did he change his mind about repayment?

  “Get in.” he orders. Despite my questions, I quickly comply and slide into the seat next to him. “What the hell are you doing wandering around the city alone at night and in the rain?”

  I chew on my bottom lip while I try desperately to think of some kind of acceptable reason, but honestly, I have none. Well, none that will get that fearsome look off of Matthew’s face.

  “Um, I was just heading home after having dinner at the café,” I say lamely.

  Anger flashes through his eyes and I can tell he’s fighting to keep his calm. “Rose do not lie to me,” he says. “I know after Kist drove away from the building you claimed to live in, you promptly exited the building. Then you went to the bank and closed out your account. After that you went into the café and ordered coffee. You don’t even like coffee.”

  My mouth drops open and I’m floundering for what to say. How the hell does he know all that? He must have had someone following me! “How… I mean… Why… Were you following me?” I finally get my words out.

  “Yes, I had security on you. Even though I took care of the monetary aspects of your agreement with Damon, I don’t trust him. Your safety isn’t something I’m willing to compromise on.” I’m stuck between being freaked out that someone was stalking me all day and I didn’t pick up on it and being stupid-happy that Matthew cares enough to do something so crazy to keep me safe. “The real question is why the hell didn’t you tell me that you have nowhere to go?”

  He’s obviously angry and I don’t like being the one that has angered him. I feel this uncontrollable urge to please him that I don’t quite understand. He saved me in more ways than one and it feels inherently wrong to displease him. He’s been the only person to stand up for me in ten years and how do I repay him? I lie to him. I look away from him, unable to meet his gaze.

  “I didn’t know how to tell you. I couldn’t possibly ask for more help, you’ve already given me more than I deserve.” The last of my words are lost on a sob. I’m ashamed of myself. Of what I’ve become.

  Very slowly he pulls me into his arms, always so careful to not startle or hurt me. “Love, you can tell me anything. I will do anything for you,” his voice is full of promise. “Anything.” He turns to the front of the vehicle and tells the driver to take us home. A tiny thrill shivers down my spine at the very idea of going home with Matthew. I try to tell myself not to get excited. That he didn’t mean that his home is my home, but despite the fact that I hardly know him, I want to call Matthew’s home my own.

  “Alrighty, boss man.” It’s not until he speaks that I realize the driver is Kisten. My cheeks heat in embarrassment at having him witness my breakdown. He gives me a wink in the rearview mirror making me feel slightly better.

  Matthew runs his fingers idly through my wet hair trying to smooth out the tangles. I relax into his touch. It’s been so very long since I could rejoice in such simple human contact. I don’t really understand why, but despite the fact that I don’t like being touched by anyone for any reason, I love Matthew’s hands on me.

  It’s a good thing because he’s always finding a small way to touch me. Anything from playing with my hair and holding my hand to more intimate touches like brushing his fingers over my cheek. Not once have I flinched away from him. Even in the throes of a panic attack, his touch is a soothing balm to my senses.

  Usually, a man’s touch would send my anxiety soaring in anticipation of what’s to come. It’s one of the things Damon loved about me. He learned quickly that even casual touches ratcheted up my anxiety. Damon likes his toys—belts, whips, floggers, canes—because they offer maximum pain. He loved tying me down and running his hands all over my body. He said that I gave him more fear and pain from a delicate touch than most give after being whipped.

  I shake off those memories and focus on Matthew’s fingers in my hair. Idly, I wonder if he’s trying to soothe me or if it soothes himself to touch me like this. I’m tempted to ask, but then he might stop, and it feels wonderful. It calms me and makes me feel safe. Loved. I’m not foolish enough to think that Matthew loves me, but he cares and that’s enough. It’s more than I’ve ever had.

  I rest my head against his shoulder and close my eyes, soaking in this moment for as long as I can. Etching it in my memory so that I can pull it out and bask in it all over again. Maybe it’ll help me get through whatever the future holds. Being here with Matthew feels like a dream. Knowing how quickly dreams can turn, I shouldn’t let myself indulge. I do anyway.

  6

  Matthew

  All-day long, I’ve been a wreck. Ten minutes after Rose left with Daniels, I had Slade on the phone. I never should’ve let her fucking leave. It took every single ounce of self-control I have to keep me from going and collecting her the moment Slade said she left the apartment complex. It might be over-the-top to have a security detail on her, but I can’t let her slip away again. I still can’t believe after all these years, she managed to end up in my club.

  What are the chances that Rose would end up here in New York City, far from where we’re from, and in my BDSM club? If I believed in fate, I would say it had a hand in orchestrating the whole thing. I spent years searching for the Grants and Rose, but they disappeared like dust in the wind.

  It was during my search for Rose that I met Slade and Kisten.

  Slade is ex-military, who took a special interest in putting a stop to human trafficking. On one of his many covert operations, he stumbled upon one of the biggest human trafficking rings in Russia. Using his cover as one of the bad guys, he purchased one of the girls being sold. He couldn’t save them all, but he could save her. Once his mission was over, he went back to save the rest, but someone had gotten wind of what was coming, and the traffickers had killed all of the girls and abandoned the warehouse.

  Kisten’s history isn’t a pretty one. He was born on the wrong side of the tracks to a drug dealer and a crack whore. He was on the streets by the age of fifteen. He did a lot of bad shit just to survive.

  I think the only people more shocked by Rose’s appearance are Kisten and Slade. Three years after the Grants disappeared with Rose, I was able to track down Marcia Grant. Unfortunately, it was in the Chicago morgue that I found her. Dead means she couldn’t answer my questions. That was the last lead I got.

  When Slade confirmed she had wandered the streets for hours before taking shelter from the rain in a café, I knew she had nowhere to go. Why the fuck didn’t she tell me? Did she honestly think I wouldn’t help her?

  Her too skinny body trembles against my side. “Cold?”

  “A little,” she meekly responds.

  I pull her into my lap and wrap my coat around her, cocooning her in my arms against my body. She turns her head and presses her cold face against the warmth of my neck. I suck in a breath of shock at the chill.

  “Cold?” She asks with a hint of a smile in her voice.

  I can’t hold back my laughter. God, this woman holds everything good in the world, and she doesn’t even know it. I sink back into the soft leather seat and relish the feeling of her body against mine.

  Ten long years of waiting, and I finally have my girl in my arms again. Only, she doesn’t seem to remember me. It pains me to no end knowing that my Rose forgot me. Forgot our young love that blossomed despite, or maybe because of, the hell we lived in. It’s taken all of my self-control, and some borrowed from Kisten and Slade, to keep me from bringing up our past.

  Slade was the one who talked me down that first night after Rose had to be sedated. He’s right, though. I have no idea what she’s been through all th
ese years we’ve been apart. The fact that she was with Damon tells me that things weren’t good for her. Damon isn’t just some innocent bystander that took advantage of a young woman desperate for money.

  No, he’s the only son to Dominic Savada, the head of the Savada Family—the mob. His father is no angel, but Damon makes his father look like a fucking saint. Damon is a sadistic fuck whose moral compass points straight toward Hell. It didn’t take me long to piece together that Rose sold herself to Damon in exchange for a new identity. She’s on the run from someone, and pure desperation sent her straight into the lion’s den.

  I want to reassure her that nothing is going to hurt her ever again. I want to help her with whatever troubles her. Protect her from whatever she’s running from, but I’m taking my friends advice and letting Rose set the pace.

  Both Dr. Martinez and Slade are convinced that Rose has post-traumatic stress disorder, which can mean that she’s blocked out or suppressed memories as a coping mechanism. Maybe I latched onto that as an explanation for how she could forget about me because it hurt too damn much to think that those months we spent together meant so little to her that she was able to forget all about me. No matter the reason, she’s obviously in a fragile state of mind, and I won’t be the cause of further stress. Either she will remember me in her own time, or I will just have to be satisfied with whatever is in store for us in the future. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m her future. She fell in love with me once, I just have to make her love me again. Thank God, I’m a stubborn fuck who doesn’t back down from a challenge. When I see something I want, I go after it with a single-minded focus.

  One way or another, I’m going to get my Rosie back, and then I’m going to spend every day for the rest of my life loving her.

  7

  Rose

  Several minutes later, we pull into an underground parking garage, the door is opened as soon as we stop by a very large, very scary looking man. He has dark hair and even darker eyes. He has a scar on one side of his face. I cringe at the realization that it’s a knife wound. My inner thigh itches and I have to clench my fists to prevent myself from touching the spot over the scar there that’s a perfect match to this man.

  I recoil back from him as he reaches into the car to grab ahold of my arm. His grip is firm but gentle. The dark, deadly look in his eyes has my mouth growing dry. This man could break me with one hand tied behind his back and not even blink. I force my brain to calm. Matthew isn’t freaking out, so this guy has to be safe. Just because he looks scary doesn’t mean he’s a danger to me. Despite his size and his hard look, he helps me carefully from the SUV.

  “Slade, this is Rose,” Matthew introduces us as he slides out of the SUV behind me. “Slade will be your security detail if you should need to leave the residence. He’ll drive you wherever you need to go.”

  Slade nods down at me and attempts a smile. I assume he’s trying to put me at ease, but he shouldn’t have bothered. Nothing he does is going to minimalize the level of lethal energy he puts out just standing here. “Rose,” he says in acknowledgment.

  I shiver at the tone of his voice. It’s gravely and just as menacing as the rest of him. I can imagine him chewing on broken glass in his spare time to keep that level of menace in his tone. My anxiety rises with every breath I take, and the need to flee is so strong I have to force myself to stay standing still. Thankfully, Matthew is more than willing to allow me to cling to his arm. I manage to position myself in a way that Matthew is between Slade and me. I wearily stare at the hulk of a man. Lord have mercy, where did Matthew find this guy? My voice has completely escaped me, and the only thing I can concentrate on is breathing. Even that is a chore.

  Slade notices my distress—it is pretty obvious—and a little of the hardness retreats from his eyes. “I know I’m one scary-looking motherfucker, but that’s why I’m on your detail ma’am. Have to be a damn big fool to come up against me.” He tries the whole smiling thing again, and this time it’s not quite so scary. In fact, since his smile is a bit wider, more genuine, there is a hint of a dimple on his left cheek and a slight twinkle in his dark eyes. “You are safe with me, little bit,” he promises.

  Matthew is silent through this exchange, which is strange since at every sign of my discomfort, he’s come to my rescue. I glance up at him from the corner of my eye and notice he is looking down on me, my discomfort hasn’t escaped his notice he’s just allowing me the chance to handle things. I am not as subtle in my glance as I think and can see the smirk on his lips when he sees me looking at him.

  I look back towards Slade, well, mostly at his knees. Baby steps. “O-okay,” I stutter. “Thanks.” My voice cracks and I can’t hide the hint of fear in it, but at least I answered.

  Daniels walks past us and claps Slade on the shoulder then heads to a bank of elevators entering a code in the keypad next to the smallest of the three elevators. Matthew starts to move forward, stopping in his tracks when I don’t move from the spot I’m rooted to. Still holding onto his arm with a death grip. He turns to face me head-on and pulls my fingers from his arm one at a time then links his fingers through mine.

  “Love,” he admonishes. “I think by now you know that I am not going to let anything happen to you. You are perfectly safe here with me and in my home. My men will never let anything happen to you either. While both Slade and Daniels look like bad motherfuckers, I am the baddest motherfucker around so they will not disappoint me. Got it?”

  Feeling a bit annoyed at myself for being such a shrinking violet, I straighten my spine and nod in acceptance. I’m not sure why, but I trust Matthew. Maybe because he saved me from Damon, or because after he saved me, he spent days by my bedside taking care of me. No matter the reason, I trust him more than I can ever remember trusting anyone… except…

  No, I won’t think of him. Not now. Not ever.

  I shove that thought down. Marcia Grant—my once foster mother and tormentor—told me he was a figment of my imagination. The stupid dream of a child. In my life, there isn’t any room for childish thoughts, and certainly no room for dreams. Unless you consider nightmares as dreams. There are plenty of those. The dreams didn’t stop coming, though. Dreams of the blue-eyed boy who promised to take me away. To save me from the Grants. Night after night, he promised me the world in my dreams. Of course, I would always wake up, and there was no rescue on the horizon.

  I look up at Matthew’s dark-blue eyes and wonder if my subconscious has connected the dream-boy who made such pretty promises with this man in front of me. Did my brain trick me into trusting him because of my dreams? Do I care if that’s why I’m so comfortable with Matthew?

  No, I decide, I don’t care the why of how I feel when he’s around. I’ve never felt more cared for, more protected, more like a human being that’s worthy of kindness in my entire life. I’m going to latch onto the way he makes me feel and not let go.

  “Use your words.”

  My eyes widen at Matthew’s tone. It’s a little harder. More demanding. This is the dominant peeking out. It’s not the first time he’s gotten that firmness to his voice with me, but it is the first time it feels like there is true weight to the implied threat.

  Part of me wonders what he’ll do if I refuse to answer him. Will he threaten me? Is this where I find out that he’s not at all what he seems? Because I’m an idiot, I don’t respond. Instead, I stand stock-still, chewing my cheek until the sharp metallic taste of blood coats my tongue.

  “Perhaps it is time we had a quick chat about expectations. If I ask you a direct question, I expect a verbal response. Communication is important in a—” Matthew hesitates and seems to change his mind about whatever it is that he was going to say. “—Communication is important. Understand?”

  He’s so stern and has an air of confidence that it makes me instantly want to give him what he wants, but I’ve chosen my path. Now that the idea to test him is in my head, I can’t seem to ignore it. Some sick part of me needs to know how far I ca
n push him before he raises his hand in anger. Where is the line to cross? There is always a line. If I find it now, I can avoid it later.

  I swallow thickly, then nod my head again, averting my eyes so I can’t see the man whose been so good to me change into just another monster. I don’t have to wait long. Before I can even so much as blink, Matthew has my hair wrapped tightly around his hand. He uses his grip to tilt my head back, giving me nowhere else to look besides directly at him.

  I wait for the pain of a slap or maybe a vicious tug to my hair that’ll bring me to my knees in front of him, but that doesn’t happen. I fight my instinct to close my eyes as he slowly leans in close. So close his face is barely a hairsbreadth away from mine. I can almost taste the sweet peppermint on his breath.

  “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart,” he says in a throaty voice, his lips lightly brushing against mine as he speaks because he’s so close.

  He warns me about playing with fire, but with the way he’s holding me and how close he is, I swear, I’m already burning. My insides feel like they are on fire. A warmth bubbles up from deep inside me, and it takes me long seconds to realize what I’m feeling is attraction. The thought is like a shock to my system. I’ve never been in a position to explore the natural attraction between a woman and a man, and now that I am, it’s overwhelming.

  The spark of fear has calmed to anticipation. Matthew’s grip on my hair no longer feels like a threat but a promise. I’m going to claim temporary insanity for what I do next because that’s literally the only possible reason for it. Without thinking, I close the minuscule distance between our lips and tentatively press my lips to his. The whole time my brain is screaming at me to stop being an idiot. That he’s going to think I’m offering my body as payment for all the things he’s done for me.