Prologue
The whiskey tasted horrid.
Didn’t matter if it was expensive or cheap, it always felt like she was pouring gas down her throat. Molly grimaced. She’d never really developed a taste for the stuff, but her mother had loved it. So, every year on the anniversary of her mom’s death, she forced a few sips down in tribute.
She stared at the photo of her mother resting in her lap. A smiling woman with alabaster skin and wild red hair stared back at her. A tear dripped down her cheek, and she wiped it away impatiently. She’d cried enough tears over the years. How many times had her aunt said her mother wouldn’t have wanted her to mourn her forever?
Although today, twenty-two years after her mother’s death, she wasn’t crying over losing her. She was crying for herself and that really pissed her off.
“You always knew this was coming,” she muttered to herself. “No use getting this upset. Doesn’t change anything.”
Her mother had died at thirty-seven. Her grandmother at thirty-five. The history of breast cancer in her family was something she’d always had hanging over her. Like a guillotine waiting to drop. Now that’s a gruesome image.
She set her mother’s photo down on her desk and turned to stare out the window at the sparkling lights of New York City. Normally the night view from her office gave her a sense of excitement.
But she was starting to feel like this wasn’t where she was meant to be. Savannah’s fault. Her former patient’s stories about the town she lived in had made Molly realize that something was missing in her life. She was lonely.
Savannah was now doing amazingly well considering all she’d been through. They’d worked together for months, helping Savannah work through the trauma of being attacked and kidnapped and the ensuing agoraphobia that had developed.
Molly was fond of Savannah and her men even though she’d never actually met them in person. Maybe it was time for that to change.
What would it be like to live in a town where the women were watched over, protected, and always came first? Where relationships with more than just two partners weren’t just accepted but practically the norm? She couldn’t imagine having two men. Hell, she hadn’t even been able to deal with one. She snorted as bitter feelings rose from the memories of her failed relationship with Richard. The dick.
Richard had left a long time ago after claiming he couldn’t stand living with a ticking time bomb, never knowing when it would go off. Well, how the hell did he think she felt? She was the one carrying the bomb. But she got it. Watching her mother grow progressively sicker then die had broken her father. He’d turned from a caring, if a little distant, father into someone who’d barely acknowledged her existence. If it wasn’t for her aunt taking her in . . . well, she didn’t know what would have happened to her.
Her father’s sister had welcomed a traumatized thirteen-year-old into her home and it had been the best thing that could have happened to her. Her aunt died three years ago, her father last year. Now Molly was alone.
With a grimace at the thought, she turned back to her computer, wiggling the mouse to wake up the screen. She read over her resignation. She’d have to work out some notice, she had patients she’d need to gently transfer over to other therapists. But she had some leave saved up. Soon, she’d be on her way to Haven.
She looked over at her mother’s photo. “Gonna find me a man or two to have a good time with, Mom. Not sure you’d be proud exactly, but it’s time I lived my life.”
All her life she’d done the right thing. She’d tried to fit in, to conform. To make her father notice her, to make Richard happy.
Now she was going to do what made her happy. She knew she didn’t have much time left. Her family history told her that.
And so did that small lump she’d found in her breast.
Once, the sounds and smells of a BDSM club would have brought him excitement. Would have made his heart race, his body stir. Now all he saw was what he’d once had—and lost.
Saxon settled himself onto the stool next to Jake, studying the main dungeon floor. Saxon ran a tight ship. There were club rules everyone followed, or they were out. In here it was his way or the highway.
“Nice little scene going on in medical,” he said to Jake. “You should take a look.”
Jake grunted, uninterested. He glanced over to where a tall, thin man was tied to a St Andrews cross. His Dominant, a shorter, slightly pudgy man with a receding hairline leaned in to check with him. The sub smiled and nodded. Then the Dom stepped back and flicked the whip he held in his hand, using the sound to build his sub’s anticipation—and trepidation.
Saxon’s gaze followed Jake’s. “If you asked, I’m sure Mike would give you a turn whipping Peter’s ass. From what I hear they’ve been looking for a third.”
Jake had to work hard to keep himself from reacting. Saxon was just trying to get a reaction. Stirring the pot was something he excelled at. And he was one of the few people who could penetrate the wall Jake had wrapped around himself.
“You know I’m not gay.”
“No? Thought you might be leaning that way since you keep rejecting all the female subs I send your way. There’s nothing wrong with it, you know. Butt sex is hot. If you want to do it with a guy, then I say go for it.”
Jake gave him an exasperated look. “Well, thank you for your approval. It means the world to me.”
Saxon grinned. “No worries. So, you want me to find you a male sub?”
“No, I don’t want you to find me any sort of sub.”
“Too bad, you and Angus would have made a really cute couple.”
“Angus? Angus is seventy-two!” Jake gaped at Saxon.
“He’s pretty energetic for seventy-two. Acts like a man in his sixties, if you ask me.”