Deliverance (NYC Doms Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Deliverance

  NYC Doms Book 1

  Jane Henry

  I dedicate Deliverance to every reader whose life has been touched in some way by a child with special needs. You are as special as they are. This story is for you.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Untitled

  About the Author

  Other titles by Jane you may enjoy:

  Acknowledgments

  A big thank you to Shannon from Shanoff Designs for an amazing cover, to my editor and proofers who helped me in more ways I can say, and for the enthusiasm and support of my review team and Club members. Thank you!

  Chapter 1

  “You son of a bitch,” I hiss, intentionally keeping my voice low. Crazy, half-cocked, vindictive ex-lover isn’t normally my thing.

  Hell, there’s a first for everything, though.

  “Diana! Stop. This is stupid, and girl, you know I know stupid when I see it because I’ve done all the stupid in my life.” Beatrice pleads with me to think twice as she shuffles toward me, trying to place her small frame between me and the car I’m about to destroy.

  “Stop the lecture.” My hands tremble as I hold the keys, glaring past my blonde-haired, blue-eyed bestie, and focusing my hatred on the silver Maserati. I march past Beatrice, and before I can change my mind, dig the tip of my key into the gleaming exterior with maniacal glee. Crouching down, I take grim pleasure in destroying the most beautiful car I’ve ever looked at. Sat in. Been fucked in.

  “Did you tell Little Miss High and Tight your sob story?” I cackle to the car as if it’s my ex-boyfriend embodied. I’d only just met the guy a few weeks ago, my first real boyfriend since my ex-husband took off, but I’d managed to convince myself he was the one. My savior. My hero. With a particularly vicious swipe, I lose my footing and nearly sprawl onto the snowy sidewalk, but I catch myself on the bumper. Wind whips at my hair, icy snow lashing my bare skin, but I hardly feel it.

  Tequila for the win.

  “Diana,” Beatrice cajoles. “You’ve had too much to drink. God, woman! Get ahold of yourself! You’ve done it, okay? You’ve done enough. I shouldn’t have let you out of the car. This isn’t you. You’re too smart to pull this teenaged shit. Just get in the car and I’ll—”

  “Leave me alone.” I love this girl to death, but I don’t trust myself not to shove her out of my way if she tries to stop me. I scrape the key once more, so deep it feels like fucking nails on a chalkboard, but I like knowing the damage will be severe. “You don’t know what it’s like to walk into your bedroom and see some bitch with her lips wrapped around your boyfriend’s cock.”

  Scrraaape.

  “You don’t know what it’s like to see betrayal in the eyes of the man who said he loved you.”

  Scraaaape.

  “You don’t know what it’s like,” my voice catches on a dry sob, so I underscore my angst with another cut of the key, “to have to explain to your son that the bastard who promised to take him to the drive-in movie theater was a lying piece of shit who’ll never come back.”

  Scrape, scrape, scraaape.

  Sitting back on my heels, I eye the destruction with triumph.

  Beatrice talks to me like one might speak to a rabid animal, her hands outstretched in a gesture meant to calm. “I may not know those things, but I do know that—” She freezes, her voice now panicked. “Oh. Oh, shit. Diana, stop. Oh my God. We have to go.”

  But before I can respond, the deep growl of a man’s voice right behind me—a voice I do not know—makes me nearly stumble.

  “What the fuck are you doing to my car?”

  Shit.

  His… car?

  I turn, my cheeks hot despite the freezing cold, to stare into the terrifyingly furious face of the biggest man I’ve ever seen. He towers over me, even wearing my tallest spiky heels, and the involuntary step I take back helps me see him better. Everything about him is dark, with his swarthy skin and nearly-black hair, but it’s his eyes—black as coal beneath thick, heavy brows, that pin me in place. I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can barely think.

  His jaw, covered in thick, dark stubble, tightens when his huge, muscled arms cross his expansive chest.

  In any other time or place, I’d find the man sexy as fuck. But now?

  “Your car?” I whisper.

  “My car,” he says in a low growl. “What are you doing to my fucking car?”

  I blow out a breath and close my eyes.

  I’m screwed.

  Chapter 2

  I breathe in deeply through my nose and exhale through my mouth, my chest rising and falling with the effort of staying calm. I’d learned to master my temper at an early age, and it rarely flares like it does tonight. Something about catching some crazy bitch with wild hair, a short skirt, and spiky red heels keying your car does that to a guy.

  I narrow my gaze on her, trying to figure out who the fuck she is. Someone I know? A scorned ex? Nah. A submissive I’d topped at my club? No. There’s nothing familiar about her at all.

  I’d have remembered this one.

  A mane of wild, unruly black curls that frame her oval-shaped face. Large hazel eyes with ridiculously long lashes. A small, pert nose, full mouth with cherry-red lips. She doesn’t come anywhere near my height, but wearing those death-defying heels, she’s taller than any woman I’ve known. Though she meets my gaze squarely, she can’t hide the tremble in her lower lip, betraying her fear.

  “Your car?” she asks.

  The little blonde standing next to her gives an audible gasp that ends with a squeak, and covers her mouth with her hand, then spins around to look at my plate covered in a layer of ice and snow.

  “My car. That’s parked outside of my club.” I jerk a thumb at my chest, then to the plain brick building with the shiny black door, the entrance to Verge, the exclusive BDSM club. My second home.

  She whips her head around and gazes at the door, then looks back to me. Her eyes narrow and her lips tighten. “You’re lying.”

  Oh, the little shit. The fucking gall of her to defile my car, then sass me like that. What I wouldn’t give to take her across my knee and teach her some manners.

  With another intake of breath to keep me calm, I whip out my cell. “Let me call my friend, Zack. Local NYPD. I’m sure he’ll be happy to haul your ass to jail and press charges for me.”

  Real fear crosses her features then. “No! Oh, God.” She turns back to the car, wavering on her feet, and scrapes ice and snow off the plate.
r />   Is it the heels, or is she drunk? Christ, if that girl were mine she’d pay for this.

  “Wrong plate,” she moans. “Oh, God. It’s a New York plate. This is the wrong car.” She shivers, then. Is she cold, afraid, or both?

  “No shit,” I snap. “We’re in fucking New York City. What’d you expect?”

  She spins around and waves her hands in front of her, pleading for leniency.

  “I am so sorry. Whatever the damage is, I’ll pay for it, I swear to God, every last penny. I didn’t mean…” she turns to the car and brings a hand to her mouth, eyes filling with tears.

  “I… this is…” she shakes her head and pulls out her wallet, taking out a shiny gold credit card. “This isn’t me. This isn’t what I do.”

  What forced her hand?

  Fuck me. I want to know.

  “I’ll—I’ll pay for the damage.” The wind picks up. She wraps her arms around herself, dressed in a thin leather jacket, her hands beet red from the cold.

  Seeing her freezing cold, eyes brimming with unshed tears, I make a decision.

  She’ll pay for it alright. I’ll drag her ass out of the cold, though, and we’ll take it from there.

  “My office is just inside that building. Come and we’ll talk about this.”

  Her frantic gaze sweeps from her friend to me. The blonde shakes her head, and they have a hissed conversation before the woman pushes her friend’s hand off her shoulder and turns to me. “I’ll go. I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”

  That she will.

  I don’t trust her not to run away, so when she gets in the car idling by the curb, and she makes her way to the door, I grip her arm. “Ice, heels, and whatever the fuck you’ve got coursing through your veins, I don’t need a liability on my hands.” Part of me wonders what the fuck I’m doing, taking the girl into Verge. Pretending the feel of her small arm in my hand doesn’t make me want to touch more of her.

  Non-members don’t grace the halls of Verge, and though I’ve been with many a submissive inside the club, I’ve never taken someone in. It’s crossing a line somehow.

  But this woman is not mine, I tell myself. Not a date. I’m bringing her in from the cold and exchanging information. Making sure she doesn’t take off and screw me over.

  She’ll catch frostbite out there.

  Yeah.

  She doesn’t have to see anything. Nothing suspicious. Keep her in the office, then get her the fuck out of here.

  Right.

  I nod to Brax, the bouncer at the door tonight, who eyes the woman next to me with curiosity. I shake my head, once. No, she isn’t mine.

  If she were mine, she wouldn’t be sitting pretty for long.

  Stalking down the hall I release her and order, “Keep your eyes on me. No snooping. This is a members-only, private club, and you’re not welcome here.”

  She huffs out a mirthless laugh. “Seriously? Like I asked to come here? Listen, mister, I’ll give you my information and get the hell out of here.”

  “You’ll take a seat in my office and sober your ass up first.” I open the door to my office and grab the chair in front of my desk, the sound of the feet scraping along the varnished floor jarring.

  “No thanks, I’ll stand.”

  “Sit.”

  “No.”

  I spin around to look at her. Her eyes flash with warning, her jaw clenched in anger.

  “We can do this the easy way…” my voice is controlled, a low purr that makes submissives under my authority quiver. But not this woman. “…or the hard way.”

  “Oh yeah?” she asks through clenched teeth, stepping over to me, her hazel eyes meeting mine. “Some chicks might dig this whole caveman shit, but I don’t. There is no easy or hard way. There is one way. You give me a piece of paper and a pen, and I give you my insurance information. We contact them in the morning and file a report. They handle the rest, and we never see each other,” she flicks her wrist for emphasis, “again.”

  I shake my head with a chuckle, ignoring how her sass makes my dick hard. Jesus, I haven’t had a woman defy me like this in far too long. “You committed an act of vandalism, sweetheart.” I let the words drip sarcasm, needing her to feel this. “Your insurance company won’t fucking compensate for intentional damage. I either press charges, or we handle this off the books.”

  She bristles at the “sweetheart,” but her bravado slips. Her eyes betray her fear. “Oh,” she says in a little voice.

  I shake my head. I never dreamed she’d give me shit like this. It’d been a mistake not to call the police.

  “On second thought, maybe Zack really does need to be involved.” I take out my phone, but her eyes go wide and she grabs my arm.

  “No! God, no, please don’t. I have no idea what they’ll do with my assistance if I get charged for this! And my son needs it. I can’t risk that.”

  What?

  “Please,” she whispers.

  Christ.

  I stare at her and point to the chair once more. “Sit,” I tell her, gentler this time. I lean back against my desk in front of her and watch as she sits.

  Victory. A small one, but I’ll take it.

  “Your name?”

  “Diana.”

  Diana. The name of a goddess. Fucking Wonder Woman.

  “Tobias Creed,” I say.

  My phone buzzes, followed by a flash of light on my desk, a vibrant red that makes ice instantly pulse in my veins. A signal from Zack, one I can’t ignore.

  The flashing red has only been used once since Seth and I opened Verge: emergency lock-down.

  Shit.

  I push off the desk and point a finger at her. “You stay right there,” I growl, taking my phone in hand. “I need to find out who triggered the alarm.” She screws up her face to protest, but the imminent danger makes me angry.

  “Your ass leaves that chair, and your ass is mine. I don’t care who the hell you are, you leave now and you won’t sit for a fucking week.” Her eyes widen, and I frown at her, pinning her in place with my gaze. I am beyond caring about etiquette, my dose of mercy used up. “Try me, Diana.”

  She opens her mouth in outrage and pushes her hands on the arm rests, but I just repeat, “Try me.”

  She sits back down with a huff.

  Good.

  I’ll sort her ass out later.

  I turn the door to my office as I answer the call. “Yeah?”

  “Creed.” I recognize Zack’s gritty voice. “Club’s in lockdown. No one leaves. On my way in now. I told Seth to start the lockdown.”

  What the fuck is this about?

  “Victim of sexual assault, and all signs point to the perpetrator originating from Verge. Victim’s friend says she was there tonight, left with a stranger. You do not reveal details to your team yet. No one, and I mean no one, leaves your place without express permission from me or another officer.”

  Acid burns in my stomach, my hands clench into fists. With a growl, I hit the master lock by the door and can almost hear the audible click as the four exits to Verge shut tight.

  “How bad?” I ask, bracing myself. Running a club in downtown NYC means I’m no stranger to crime, but when it involves sexual assault—

  Zack pauses, and when he speaks his voice is tight. “Vicious. Cruel. She was found on the corner of Trace and Main, was rushed to County. Intensive care.”

  Fuck.

  My blood turns cold as sirens ring through the night.

  Chapter 3

  The bitter outrage I felt at the Neanderthal’s high-handed commands evaporates at the sound of sirens. I know, even though I can’t hear the conversation on the other end of the line, that something terrible happened. I can tell by the way Tobias’s jaw tightens, and his body straightens.

  Chad.

  Oh, God. If anything happened to my son...

  Reaching for my phone, I text the sitter. No response.

  He’s fine. I tell myself while breathing deep, willing my nerves to calm. He’s going t
o be fine. I focus on counting backward from ten, my chest constricting, but it doesn’t help. The room feels too warm, my head too light. I blink. The lights brighten then darken then brighten again. I don’t notice I’m on my feet and holding my breath until I feel warm, strong hands on me. I gasp for breath.

  “Sit,” he orders, and this time it isn’t the harsh command of a few moments ago, but softer. “What the fuck’s goin’ on here? You okay?”

  I shake my head and close my eyes, trying to breathe through my nose. “Anxiety attack,” I gasp out, panting now. “I... get them sometimes.” A band tightens on my chest. My head is light and woozy, the room spins. My lungs are too empty, and that’s not okay, I need to breathe air into them but whatever pushes against my chest won’t let me. Panic wells up and I gasp.

  “Christ, lay down on the couch.” He leads me over to a couch pushed up against a wall, and he pushes me onto it, kneeling his large frame in front of me. “Hold my hand,” he orders. I need this. No questions. Just listen.

  I do what he says. His hand is large and warm and rough, and it shocks me how quickly the band in my chest loosens.

  “Breathe in through your nose,” he says. Eyes still closed, I obey. “There. Now breathe steadily. If you can handle it, sit up, but do not move. I have things to do.”

  I nod. It’s embarrassing, losing my shit like this. I haven’t had an anxiety attack in over a year.

  Fucking tequila.

  I lift my phone, breathing in relief when a text message flashes on my screen

  It’s Mandy, my son’s babysitter. I’m sorry, Mrs. McAdams. Everything’s fine here. Chad’s asleep, and I had headphones on, studying, and didn’t see your message.