“Why do you have to beat him?”

“I don’t have to.”

“Then why do it?” They said ask questions? By God, she’d ask.

Mac didn’t wait for Sully to answer. “Because I like it,” he softly said, glancing at Sully as if for reassurance.

“How can anyone enjoy getting beaten?”

“It’s not as simple as that,” Sully interjected. “Only by seeing it over time can you understand. Punishment isn’t the same as play. It’s not all about pain, a lot of it is sensual.”

She shivered and gripped her mug more tightly.

Sully wasn’t finished. “Mac always has the ability to stop anything he doesn’t like. He can call red.” He glanced at Mac. “That brings me to another point. We don’t want to force our lifestyle on you. You are, however, welcome to watch if the door is open. Or if something happens you aren’t comfortable seeing, speak up and we’ll take it behind closed doors.”

“Does my uncle know what you do?”

“No, not really. He suspects I’m in charge, but that’s it.” He motioned to Mac, who helped him stand. “I’m not mentally at my best today, between the pain and the painkillers. So I need to give you a rain check on going over what I want you to do to help me out.

Basically, you’ll be my administrative assistant. As far as household duties, you and Mac can split them as he sees fit.” Mac started to protest, but Sully hushed him. “You will split your duties with her, slave. That’ll give you more time to work on the boat, keep your paperwork up to date, stuff like that. You said you wished you could take the boat out more often. Now you can.”

Mac finally nodded, but he didn’t look totally happy. “Yes, Master.”

With Mac’s assistance, Sully limped down the hall and back to the couch. “You’ll help Mac on the boat as he needs. Mac will come up with a reasonable pay scale for that. For what you’ll do around the house and for me, I’ll pay you two hundred a week cash, and you’ll get free room and board and the car on top of that. I’ll also pay your insurance. Is that okay?”

She numbly nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine.” A minimum of eight hundred a month, free and clear, in addition to whatever Mac paid her.

Add that to what she still had in savings, it wouldn’t take long to build a nice nest egg. After six months, she’d have more than enough to afford a small apartment and buy a cheap car of her own.

“I’ll pay you cash so Bryan can’t track you. Once that situation’s handled, I’ll adjust your pay so your after-tax income is still the same.”

“Thanks.”

Mac helped Sully rearrange himself on the couch. Mac started to hand him the lap desk, but Sully waved him off. “No, I think I need a nap.” His face appeared pinched with pain. “Let the pain meds kick in.” He shot a serious look at Mac. “Make a chore schedule of some sort by the end of the day. Doesn’t have to be elaborate, but you will let her take turns with chores.”

Mac reddened. “Yes, Master.”

Clarisse followed Mac into the kitchen. Then he spotted the laundry basket still sitting on the floor. “Well, you could help me with that.” He changed course and she followed him into their bedroom, where he dumped the clothes onto the bed.

It didn’t look like a monster lived here. As she helped Mac fold clothes, she snuck glances around, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary.

That sighting came when he opened the door to their large walk-in closet and flipped on the light. In the corner stood a small umbrella stand. Inside it, an umbrella, two more walking canes, several thin lengths of wood, and a few things that if she had to identify them, she’d swear they were riding crops.

She gulped.

Mac followed her gaze and smiled. “Punishment canes. Rattan.”

He pulled one of the thin, whippy rods from the stand and showed it to her. “Depending on how it’s used it can feel fantastic, or slice the skin open and flay flesh right off the bone.”

“How can that possibly feel good?”

“Turn around,” he softly said.

She eyed him.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised.

She reluctantly turned.

She forced herself not to flinch when he touched her right shoulder, between her neck and arm, with the cane. “Don’t move.” He started a gentle but firm bouncing rhythm with the wooden rod that didn’t hurt at all. In fact, it felt more like a massage than a maiming.

As she relaxed, he increased the force a little, until she closed her eyes and reached out to the closet doorway for support. After a few minutes, he switched to her other shoulder and repeated the same process until she relaxed so much that her eyes popped open when he stopped.

She turned. “That’s it?”

He slid the cane into the stand. “Did it hurt?”

She shook her head. Hell, it actually felt pretty good there at the end as she’d relaxed and her muscles loosened.

“Maybe one day he’ll let me work you over with a heavy flogger.

When I finish, you’ll think you had a spa massage.” He winked.

She helped him finish putting clothes away. As she opened one drawer, the sight of leather cuffs and a few other intimate odds and ends greeted her.

He noticed her expression. “Sorry, should have warned you about that drawer.”

When they returned to the living room, Sully was already asleep.

Mac retrieved his sweatpants from the playroom and led her downstairs to the utility room to show her where everything was. She stared at the exercise equipment. Maybe she could make use of that now that her body didn’t hurt. Work off a little of her excess physical baggage.

“Can I use this?”

“Of course. Help yourself. May I ask why?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”

He frowned and leaned against the washer. “No, I’m not. You don’t need to work out.”

Clarisse snorted in disgust. “You know, I appreciate it, and it’s sweet of you, but cut the bullshit.”

“Clarisse.” His firm tone, the one she thought of as his “boat voice.” “I meant it when I said it. You’re beautiful the way you are.

You don’t need to work out. Want to? That’s fine. Don’t you dare let me catch you driving yourself crazy dieting and working out.”

The intensity in his voice made her blush. “Whatever,” she mumbled self-consciously.

He caught her hands and made her look at him. “Sweetie, you are beautiful. I don’t lie. I don’t like getting my ass whipped for that.

Exercising to be healthy, fine, I’ll go along with that. If you try to turn yourself into some skinny little anorexic waif, I’ll force feed you rice pudding.”

“Rice pudding, huh?”

“Yeah. One of my specialties.” He pulled her to him for a quick hug. “I make it with heavy whipping cream.” She snorted, in amusement this time. He laughed when he realized what he’d said.

“Haha, very funny, girlie.”

* * *

Another reason Sully hated the painkillers—the dreams. He usually experienced really vivid ones when in the narcotic’s grip.

Mostly bad dreams that left him sweating and trembling as he relived the shooting.

As he napped on the sofa, his dreams turned slightly more distant.

Standing nearby while Jason questioned a man with sandy blond hair who sat on the back bumper of a rescue wagon. The ambulance carrying the man’s sister had just pulled out. Gauging from the blood patterns on the guy’s clothes, he’d been the one to find her, not harm her.

“Please, can I go? I need to be with her!” Tears rimmed his brown eyes, but there was no spray of blood on his face or in his hair to declare him guilty.

“I’m sorry, Mr. MacCaffrey. I’m almost done,” Jason said.

Sully listened as Jason quickly ran through the standard questions.

One of the crime scene techs took pictures of the guy and scrapings from under his fingernails.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll need to take your shirt as evidence.”

The man stood and removed it. One of the EMTs brought over a bottle of saline to rinse the blood off his hands and arms.

If Sully hated anything about his job, it was this, the grieving kin.

Not dealing with them, but struggling against his own memories, demons, and nightmares as he tried to help them through the process.

“I’m going inside, Jayce,” Sully said. Jason nodded. Sully walked to the front door and showed his badge to the uniformed deputy standing guard.

He pulled up short at the large pool of blood on the floor.

Scanning the house, Sully fought to contain his rage. Young female victim, attacked by the husband, most likely. Lots of pictures on the walls, many showing a woman he guessed would turn out to be the victim. Quite a few of them including the man being questioned outside.

He couldn’t stand it. He returned to Jason, who was finishing with MacCaffrey. “Mr. MacCaffrey, give me your keys. I’ll drive you. My partner can follow us.”

Jason arched an eyebrow at him.

The man fumbled in his jeans for his keys and handed them over with a trembling hand.

“Are you sure you don’t want to have the EMTs transport you to the hospital?” he asked. “Get you checked out?” He suspected the man was close to shock.

“No. I want to be with Betsy.”

Jason nodded. “Go ahead. They transported her to Harborside. I’ll catch you there.”

The man led Sully to his truck, grabbed a duffel bag from behind the seat, rummaged around and found a shirt, and pulled it on. From the look of his tan and firm, natural muscles, he was used to hard outdoors work. He climbed into the passenger seat and waited for Sully.

Sully noticed the stacks of collapsed boxes and other moving supplies in the truck bed as he opened the driver side door. He threaded the truck between emergency vehicles and marked patrol cars as he pulled out of the driveway.