BeyondAddiction (27 page)

“We do what we can,” Cord told her. “When Fallon’s ready,
call Jack. Have him set up a meeting with the appropriate person. They’ll do it
at your home so it will be private. She won’t have to go to the police
station.”

“That’s a good idea.” She blew out a breath of relief.

“In fact, I’m going to call him now.” Cord was silent for a
long moment. “And Claire…I’d like to give you the names of some people I think
you should contact.”

She frowned. “What kind of people? You mean besides the
attorney?”

“Yes. She needs a doctor who can check on her, for one
thing. I can get a referral from Jack. Someone who is familiar with the BDSM
community.”

“I think that would be good. I’ve been doing what they told
me to at the hospital but I’d feel better if she had medical attention.”

“And,” he continued, “the names of therapists who specialize
in working with people in the lifestyle. I think someone like that would be
more help to her than a person who knows nothing about it.” Another pause. “I
have a feeling her need to be a submissive and her unhealthy addiction to
Willoughby have to do with a lot of things neither of us know about.”

Claire thought for a moment, then nodded her head, even
though he couldn’t see her. “All right. That would be great. But we’re a ways
away from that right now.”

“I know, I know.” More silence. “I’d like to beat that
fucker to within an inch of his life.”

“As would I, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything.”

“Claire?”

“Yes?”

“You’ll call me every day with a report, right?”

“Of course.” She felt such anguish for both of her friends.
“I promise.”

“I guess that will have to be enough. For now, anyway. I’ll
text the names of some therapists. We’ll find someone who’ll be just what she
needs.”

“Cord?”

“Yeah?”

“I believe
you’re
what she needs. She just has to be
healthy and stable enough to be what
you
need too. Keep the faith. This
will all work out.”

After she’d hung up the phone, Claire sat at the table for a
long while, thinking. This time, Fallon would have to do more than put a
bandage on the problem. She’d been the one to realize she had to get out. She’d
made the decision, so desperate finally to free herself that she’d run down the
street naked.

The journey might be excruciating, but Claire was optimistic
about the results.

* * * * *

“What the fuck do you mean, she’s gone?”
Brian
Willoughby was shouting, nearly frothing at the mouth, his control dangerously
frayed for the first time in a long while.

His current anger was directed at Mrs. Hudson, who sat at
the kitchen table holding an ice pack to her head, her skin a pasty white.

Brian had been in the middle of an important business
meeting, preparing to slice and dice the company of one of those assholes from
the SRT, when the housekeeper had called his office. His executive assistant
had taken the call and interrupted the meeting. She knew nothing of Brian’s
home life, but she
did
know calls from Mrs. Hudson came only during dire
emergencies.

Of course, Mrs. Hudson would never give his assistant
details, but with Fallon so newly reacquired, Brian’s gut told him not to wait
until after the meeting to go home. He’d broken every speed limit along the
way, royally pissed that the business deal had splintered and he’d have to
start all over again.

But as usual, his gut had been correct.

His rage was so enormous he could barely get out a coherent
sentence. He’d torn through the suite Fallon had been locked in, shoving
furniture around and yanking covers off the bed, as if he’d actually find her
hiding there. Then he stormed back into the kitchen, clenching his fists to
keep from strangling his housekeeper.

“I’m sorry.”

The fear in Mrs. Hudson’s eyes had been very real. She had
never been on the receiving end of his fury but she’d been with him long enough
to see the results of it. He couldn’t let her shaky condition affect him.
Couldn’t feel sorry for her. This was her fault, the stupid bitch.

“How the fuck did you let this happen?” he demanded yet
again.

“I told you.” She spoke in a soft voice, as if the tone
could somehow soothe him. “She staged the whole thing. I thought she’d fainted
and pulled the lamp to the floor with her. When I knelt to check her pulse and
breathing, she bashed the lamp over my head and knocked me out.”

Brian paced back and forth in the kitchen. Things were
turning to shit faster than he could keep up. That morning, Natalie had been so
listless, he’d wondered if he’d beaten the life out of her. He wanted obedience
but laced with enough spirit that he was constantly challenged to break it
down. The business deal was fractured and now Fallon had escaped—
again
.

Goddamn it anyway!

He had to do damage control, which meant pulling himself
together so he could think. It would be easy enough to satisfy himself for the
moment by firing Mrs. Hudson, but she’d been with him for so many years,
supported his lifestyle. Even assisting him when required. No, it would do him
no good to temporarily soothe himself by tossing away the one person in the
world with whom he could be himself.

He stopped his pacing to stand in front of her.

“Do you need medical assistance?” He wasn’t used to helping
others, or offering to help, so the words came out strained.

“No.” She looked up at him. “Thank you, but the ice will
take care of it. Should I pack my things? Am I terminated?”

He shook his head. “But we
will
need to be prepared
for something like this in the future. If you can function, be sure Natalie is
attended to. Tell her I’ll be spending the night with her and make sure she
prepares herself.”

A good place to vent his rage. He liked reducing Natalie to
a quivering mass, begging for discipline and hungering for the intense orgasms
he’d conditioned her body to need.

“Very well.” The housekeeper rose, still holding the ice
pack to her head. “I’ll check on her in a moment. Will you be returning to the
office?”

How could he just go back to work as if holes hadn’t been
blown in his carefully ordered life? In a sudden fury, he’d slammed his fist against
the wall, the drywall shattering at his touch.

“Get that fixed,” he ordered. “I’ll be in my den for a
while. Don’t disturb me.”

“Yes, Mr. Willoughby.” She dumped the ice pack in the sink
and headed for the stairs.

Hours passed as he sat in his den, sipping slowly on the A.
A. Hirsch Reserve bourbon he favored. As the liquor burned a continual trail
down his throat, his tension only increased, instead of easing. He’d called his
office and told them to cancel the rest of his appointments for the day. His
mind was too busy trying to comprehend Fallon’s disappearance.

How in the world had she managed it? She should have been
too consumed with pain to even
think
, let alone hatch and execute an
escape plan. And where could she have gone? Brian guessed not far, considering
the shape she was in, not to mention her nakedness. Would someone pick up a
naked woman? Maybe they’d take her to a hospital.

Fuck, that was all he needed. Finding her and trying to
explain her condition.

He opened his computer and searched for local hospitals.
Then for the better part of two hours, he argued with idiots in every facility
he could reach in a fifty-mile radius, but no one would give him answers to his
questions.

“If you’d like to come in, sir, and give us more information,
perhaps we can help you.”

No, he goddamn did
not
want to show up and put
himself in a position to be questioned about Fallon Crowe.

Brian sat in the den, brooding away the last could hours of
daylight. Mrs. Hudson knocked timidly at one point, and asked if he wanted
anything to eat. He told her to stay the hell away from him for the rest of the
night.

He couldn’t let this throw him off balance. He’d never let a
nything
do that, especially no woman, and he wasn’t about to start now. He had to focus
on the problem and what to do about it.

Assuming Fallon wasn’t in a hospital, Brian was sure he knew
where she was now. With that same bitch friend Claire who’d previously
interfered with Fallon’s training, and at a very critical point. He’d had her
so obedient that when he took her out in public, she’d sat at his feet while he
talked to other people. It was the ultimate signal to everyone that control was
always his and no one should ever think about crossing him. Also, that Fallon
was his possession, wearing an invisible Hands Off sign.

Perhaps last night he’d let his anger get the best of him.
But shit! He’d been waiting for more than a year to teach her a lesson! It had
never crossed his mind she’d have the guts or the strength to get away. How had
she even been so lucid? Obviously she hadn’t taken the pills the housekeeper
had given her.

Fuck!

Finally, as the shadows through the windows lengthened, he
pulled himself together. A plan. That was what he needed. He was very good at
making plans. At strategizing. That’s how he’d gotten where he was.

It occurred to him that maybe he was going about this all
wrong. Last time he’d been uncharacteristically like a bull in a china shop,
pounding on Claire’s door and demanding she return his property. He’d lost his
dignity along with his self-control.

This time would be different. When you wanted something from
someone, you went after that which was most important to them. For Fallon, that
was Cord Jamieson. For Jamieson that was his precious ranch.

All Brian needed to do was find a weakness there and he’d
have it made. Obliterating Jamieson should be a walk in the park.

He’d teach Fallon Crowe a lesson she would long remember.

Finally, a plan to follow. He scrolled through the contact
list on his phone until he found what he wanted and dialed the number.

The last thing Cord wanted to do today was drive into San
Antonio to have lunch with Jack Torres. He’d barely left the ranch since
Fallon’s departure and what he liked to think of as her escape from Willoughby.
He worked himself hard each day, hoping the sweaty manual labor would dull his
mind so he could stop thinking about Fallon as he’d last seen her. And as he
knew she was now. Nearly broken, but still with the strength to finally break
free of the bastard.

Claire had called him regularly during the past week with
reports, for which he was extremely grateful. He hungered for every scrap of
information, every word on Fallon’s progress. He knew Jack had gone to the
house to meet with her and how painful it had been for her, because Claire had
called him afterward. The police report was finally taken care of but Claire
was still after her to file charges against Willoughby.

“She’s not quite there yet,” Claire told hm. “First she has
to accept the fact that her personal history with her family made her a perfect
target. Then she needs to reconcile her sexual desires with the bad choices she
made and move forward.”

“And when will that happen?” He lived in a constant state of
frustration, wanting to be with the woman he loved but knowing this was going
to take time. Probably a lot of time.

“I’ll keep you in the loop,” was all Claire could say.

Now Jack apparently had more bad news to give him. They sat
in an exclusive club open only to members of the Sons of the Republic of Texas.
Chapter meetings were held there and the facility provided a place for members
to conduct important business out of the eye of the mainstream. There wasn’t
another place in the area more exclusive or protected.

“So what’s going on?” he asked after the polite pleasantries
were out of the way. “I’m not much in the mood for socializing these days.”

“This isn’t exactly socializing,” the attorney told him.
“But this is the most private place I could think of to discuss this. Members
don’t eavesdrop or rat on other members.”

Cord frowned. “This doesn’t sound good.”

Jack shook his head. “It isn’t. Or at least, it
wasn’t
.”
He put down his drink and studied Cord. “You’ve made a very powerful enemy, my
friend. One who can crush countries if he’s in the mood.”

“You mean Willoughby? What the fuck did I do to
him
?”

“As far as he’s concerned, you’d stolen something from him.
And somehow caused him to lose it again.”

Cord’s fists tightened involuntarily. “If by
something
you mean Fallon, she’s not a possession.”

“Not as far as Willoughby is concerned. If the president of
your bank hadn’t been an SRT member, which trumps the politics of banking, you
and Comanche Pass Ranch would be parting ways.”

“The fuck you say!”

Jack shrugged. “The way Willoughby looks at it, you deprived
him of something that was his. He takes something of yours in return. He told
Leland he wanted the bank to pull its financing on Comanche Pass or he’d yank
all his business.”

“Fuck.” Every muscle in Cord’s body tightened. “Can he even
do
that?”

Jack shrugged. “You haven’t tapped into much of your credit
yet. Most of the money for the ranch has come from your pocket so far, which is
the good thing. But Leland Grange could always tell you the board changed its
mind, that they no longer consider you a good risk. Which would put you in the
position of having to immediately pay off the little you’ve borrowed so far.”

“But it didn’t happen.”

“That’s right. Because at least in the state of Texas, the
SRT is more formidable than Willoughby International. We have influence and
authority in places that his money and power can’t affect. If he pisses us off,
we can do more damage to him than he can to us. And we made sure Grange knew
he’d be losing a lot more than Willoughby’s accounts if he went through with
this. He doesn’t want to lose the nice list of oil companies and conglomerates
that keep his bottom line so healthy.”

“But…I’m not a member of the SRT,” Cord pointed out.

Jack smiled at him. “You’re my personal friend. Almost as
good.”

“After what he did to Fallon, Willoughby’s lucky I dodn’t
take him apart piece by piece.” Cord knocked back another swallow of the
excellent whiskey in front of him. “How is she, Jack? I know you saw her.”

The sympathy in the other man’s eyes was almost more than he
could stand.

“She’s coping,” Jack said. “A lot better than we might
expect. And yes, physically, she’s healing. Claire’s taking very good care of
her.”

“I’m such a fucking idiot. I should have dug deeper into her
relationship with that bastard. Recognized what the reality of it was. It’s not
as if I’ve never seen it happen before. Maybe I could have—”

“Done nothing,” Jack pointed out. “This was something Fallon
had to do herself. She had to come to the realization on her own or the
connection, the draw, would always be there. She did a very stupid thing going
back to him, but a courageous thing getting out of there and seeking help. Now
she’s working to heal.”

Cord gritted his teeth. “Can you convince her to press
charges against Willoughby? The next woman might not be as lucky or as
desperate as Fallon was.”

“We haven’t yet. Just answering questions for the report
regarding the day she was found was tough enough on her. But,” he went on as
Cord started to say something, “the San Antonio BDSM community is waging its
own campaign against him. Much more stringently than we did before and probably
what we should have done to begin with. We’re also passing along warnings about
drugs. Claire is sure Willoughby fed drugs to Fallon but she could never prove
it. And Fallon told her about flushing some pills before she’d escaped. I can
easily believe he would drug women, so we’re trying to make sure any who spend
time with him know the chances they’re taking.”

Cord lifted an eyebrow. “You can do that? Without him
deciding to sue you for slander?”

“There are a lot of extremely wealthy and powerful people in
the life, in case that somehow escaped your keen observation.”

Cord leaned back in his chair. “I know there are in Dallas.
I guess I just never thought about it after moving here.”

“Listen, my friend. We have contacts all over the country.
One private club to another. One group to another. Even overseas. Several of us
locals met after what happened with Fallon and decided it was time to take
action. Something we should have done a very long time ago.”

Cord studied his friend a moment. “What made you decide to
do this now?”

“Let’s just say things hit too close to home for comfort. It
was past time to take care of business. Willoughby International might find
itself having unexpected problems as time progresses.”

“As long as he doesn’t try to get to Fallon again. And by
the way, thanks for saving my bacon.”

“This time it was a pleasure.”

Silence dropped over the table as the waiter delivered food
and fresh drinks.

“Do you think she’s going to come out of this?” Cord asked
at last.

“I’d say there’s a damn good chance. A lot will depend on
her, of course.”

Cord bit down on his frustration. “I just want to let her
know— To tell her—”

“She knows.” He gave Cord a reassuring smile. “This is going
to be a long journey for her, my friend. She’s feeling guilty about a lot of
things and she has to deal with that. And she has some things in her past she
needs to confront, also. But she’s working on it.”

“I hope she’s getting professional help.”

Jack nodded. “I sent her to one of the best. He’s a Dom
himself and he’s been a great therapist for our community.”

“So I guess Claire’s right, there’s nothing I can do except
wait. But let me tell you, it’s damn hard.”

“I know. But Claire has promised to continue giving you
daily updates. And if you love her, it will be worth it in the end.”

Cord nodded, certain there was no one he’d ever love more.

* * * * *

Fallon leaned back in the big chair and smiled at the man
sitting across from her. She’d told Claire she would have preferred a woman for
a therapist, but Jack Torres highly recommended Ted Widener and she’d been so
right to listen to him. At the very first session, he made her feel so
comfortable and at ease that she was able to relax and talk to him.

If only I’d been smart enough to do this the first time.

Stop. No more crying over spilled milk.

After two months of seeing Ted three times a week, she was
finally able to face some unpleasant truths, confront some of her demons and
deal with them.

Two months, she thought to herself, without seeing Cord.
Without really seeing anyone except Claire. Living in fear of Brian’s
appearance then being puzzled when it didn’t happen. Two months of picking
apart her life and putting it back together. Two months of dealing with
nightmares that, thankfully, became fewer and farther between.

And finally reaching a point where instead of feeling fear
or worthlessness, she felt a cleansing rage at what he’d done to her.

Ted had helped her get to that point, with a lot of support
from Claire.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, Fallon
could stare at herself in the mirror and be at peace with the person staring
back.

“You look very relaxed today,” Widener told her with a
smile. “It’s nice to see.”

“I feel as if I’ve gotten a ton of concrete off my back,”
she said. “Although digging through it hasn’t been so much fun.”

“I know. But Fallon? You’ve been able to look at parts of
your past, see how they affected your present and put them where they belong.”

She rubbed a finger along the arm of the chair. “I guess I
never realized how emotionally stunted I was because of my family. I always
admired them so much for what they’ve accomplished. My siblings as well as my parents.”

“And you felt inferior because they didn’t give your chosen
career the proper respect.”

She nodded. “I understand now that they weren’t able to
relate to anyone who wasn’t exactly like them. That their approval might always
be based totally on complying with what they want me to be.”

“Which is, of course, why you chose poorly in your
relationships. And made some bad decisions.” His gaze was thoughtful. “You do
know you made a dangerous decision going back to Brian. If you hadn’t forced
yourself to get out of there, the results would have been a lot worse.”

Fallon shifted in her chair, still uncomfortable with the
memory. “I guess I just felt I didn’t have any other choice.” She tilted her
head. “Are all your clients as fucked up as I am?”

He chuckled softly. “Trust me, you’re a novice compared to
many.” The smile disappeared. “Seriously though. You buried your feelings of
inadequacy beneath the strong image you’d built, but they were still lurking
there. When you allowed men to use you, you felt that somehow you deserved it.”

“Sad, isn’t it?” She chewed on her lower lip. “But that
doesn’t explain how I became so addicted to Brian.”

Ted refilled her water glass from a pitcher on his desk,
obviously gathering his thoughts before answering.

“Fallon, it’s important for you to understand that it wasn’t
your fault you fell under his spell. Or that you stayed with him as long as you
did.”

“But—”

He held up his hand. “The man is a master manipulator who
took advantage of those buried inadequacies. His reputation is well known. The
feeling of being addicted can be attributed to his skillful manipulation. I
like the fact that you’re finally feeling a sense of outrage at what was done
to you. Bluntly put, you were mentally, physically and emotionally raped, and
your anger is the greatest cleanser of all.”

She nodded. “You have no idea how often I’ve had that
thought. I’m so thankful I managed to survive that night. That I found the
strength to escape from his house. And him.”

“Because you were able to see, finally, the difference
between what he took and what Cord offered. And to know what you wanted—to save
yourself.”

She gave an unsteady little laugh. “It took me long enough
to get to that point.”

“There are some things you always need to keep in mind,” he
said. “Brian introduced you to a level of sexual satisfaction you’d never
experienced. But he isn’t a real Dom, just a real bastard who learned early in
life how to control people. For some it’s money, for others it’s physical
pleasure. I’d say he tapped into your deep emotional insecurities, something
none of your other Doms had done. He was sharp enough to find them. And cruel
enough to exploit them.”

“I always thought my relationships were so great, long term
or short.”

“My guess is, just from talking to you, every other man
you’ve been with has been more a friend with benefits than a lover. When you
talk about Cord, everything is completely different—your tone of voice, your
attitude, even your body language.”

Her face sobered. “Cord. Lord, I’ve put him through ten
pounds of shit.”

“The man can handle it. Trust me.”

“I’ve always liked the submission part,” she said slowly. “I
feel as if it fills a part of me that was missing.”

Ted nodded. “A real relationship between a Dom and a sub is
extremely fulfilling. There’s trust. There’s an acceptable power exchange.
There’s a bonding. And a realization that the inherent need to serve is
empowering rather than demeaning.”

“Which is what I found with Cord more than anyone else in my
life,” she agreed. “It just felt…right.” She shook her head. “But not with
Brian.”

“Because he perverted the situation for his own needs. But
all of this should help you understand why you were ripe for someone like him.
It’s not a flaw in
you
, as you kept trying to tell me.”