Raw Ch. 12

"Remove your fucking hand, asshole," I hissed, raising my right hand.

Surprisingly, he let go and even took a step back. Dammit, I had really wanted to slap him. But I wasn't done with him yet.

"Malcolm told me you took my dress off while I was sleeping last night. You're lucky I don't turn you in for attempted rape. If I ever find out you did anything more than just look at me—"

I heard a man clear his throat behind me.

"I was just looking for you, Ms. Rockland. I need you to sign off on your statement."

I started to ask what the man meant. What statement? But as the officer stepped around me, I sighed.

"Detective Jansen! It's so kind of you to stop by. This would be Mr. Pratt."

"We've met." The detective nodded, tipping his head slightly toward Jesse. "And I was the woman Malcolm and Mr. Pratt were fighting over."

"Yes, I have gathered that much." He waved his finger between Jesse and me. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes," Marge and I said together.

"We are friends of Malcolm," Jesse said, his hand now gripping the edge of the counter. "We have done nothing wrong."

"I told him visiting hours are over." Marge crossed her arms. "They are not family."

I fisted my hands at my side, willing myself to stay calm as I faced Jesse. "I want you and Juliet to leave immediately. Do not try to contact Malcolm. Do not try to contact me."

Jesse stood straighter and lifted his chin, looking down his nose at me. He was apparently trying to intimidate me with his height and girth. It didn't work this time.

Detective Jansen put a hand on my arm, blocking me as I stepped forward. But he did not speak.

"If I ever see you again, I'll hit you with a harassment lawsuit so big you'll wish you'd never heard of my name. You've messed with the wrong fucking sub this time." I turned to the detective. "Will you please escort them out?"

"Yes, ma'am." The corner of Detective Jansen's mouth had been turned up, but his smile hardened as he released my arm. "You heard the lady. Let's go. Both of you."

I was shaking as I walked back down the hall. I had to stop twice and grip the railing along the wall. I closed the door behind me as I entered Malcolm's room, grateful that he didn't have one of the glass walls with the automatic sliding doors like in the ICU. That we could have some privacy. My legs gave out just as I reached the chair.

For the hundredth time in the past twelve hours, I regretted not telling Malcolm sooner about that night in December. I could have avoided all of this. We could have been enjoying our vacation—each other—without a care in the world. And Jesse and Juliet would have been a blip on the radar of our past.

I ran the back of my fingers over Malcolm's cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin. The slight stubble from having not shaved since yesterday. I brushed his hair off his forehead so I could kiss him there. A tear dropped from my eyelash as I blinked. It landed on his eyelid, which moved occasionally as he slept. I watched the tear trickle down to the corner of his eye as if he were the one crying. I hoped he was having a good dream.

I lay my head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. My own skipped a beat as I thanked the Lord that he was going to be okay. "Please, baby, please forgive me."

###

Someone was shaking my shoulder and saying my name softly.

I stirred and blinked. It took a moment to remember that I was still in the hospital. Why I was in the hospital. I jerked upright, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth. My first thought was that something had happened to Malcolm. But he was still sleeping peacefully. Or as well as he could considering the circumstances.

"Ms. Rockland?" Marge's face hovered over mine in the dim light from the wall fixture above the bed. She squatted down next to me, her mouth somewhere in between a smile and a frown. "There's someone here to see you."

As I turned in my chair, I let out a sharp cry. I pressed my hand to my chest, as if that would help still my racing heart. "I must be dreaming."

"You're not." Drake took a step into the room from where he had been waiting in the open doorway. The light from the hall showed his frown as he crossed his arms in front of him. He nodded at me and simply said, "Becca."

Tears choked my throat. I reigned in the urge to lurch myself out of my chair at him. I wanted so badly to hug him. Or maybe throttle him. Actually, I wanted to do both. But something about his posture told me that neither would be well received. I slowly stood up instead and remained beside the head of the bed.

"You're okay?" His voice was gruff, much like Malcolm sounded when I'd woken him from sleep. Drake looked me over quickly. "You're not hurt?"

"I'm fine. Only Malcolm was in the car." I waved Marge away. She held her hand up in a hang-ten symbol to her ear and mouth as she gestured toward Drake with her eyes. I nodded that I got the message to call for help if needed, and she left us alone. I sat back down, slipping my hand through the bars of the bedrail to grasp Malcolm's cool hand for strength. It would have helped if he'd squeezed back. I sighed, conceding that I had to do this on my own. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm kind of wondering that myself." Drake's gaze was on Malcolm as he walked to the foot of the bed and stopped. He was still for a moment before he seemed to lift his head.

He was too much in the shadows for me to read his expression now. I'm not sure I wanted to see it anyway. The only time I'd ever seen him truly angry was the last time I'd actually seen him: that night at the club. He'd been in my hospital room hours later after my severe panic attack, but I'd faked sleeping, refusing to speak to him, much less look at him. Then he was gone. I had just started to accept that it was for good.

I'd never been afraid of my brother. Until now. And I wasn't even sure what exactly he could or would do to me that was frightening me.

"I got a phone call that there was an emergency with my sister. They wouldn't tell me anything else. I was lucky to catch a flight at such short notice."

I glanced at my watch. It was four in the morning. "I-I just remember giving the nurse my phone when she asked if they should call anyone to be with me."

"The police called the I.C.E. number on your phone and got me. I guess you never changed it."

"What is an ice number?"

He let out a deep breath. As if my question irritated him. "It stands for In Case of Emergency. A phone number of someone that can be reached immediately...in an emergency. Preferably, someone in the same state."

In my head, I was rolling my eyes at him and saying a sarcastic, drawn-out "Sorry." To his face, I gave a slight shrug. He must have programmed it for me at some point. I think I would have remembered doing that myself. I had probably seen it in my contact list but not paid any attention to what it was. I pretty much just used the phone as a phone and ignored all of the other technology on it. I would have to figure out how to change the number.

In retrospect, I was grateful that he had been the one the police contacted, as inconvenient as the trip had apparently been for him. My mother would have been hysterical if she'd gotten the call. Especially after the events of last summer. I felt bad, though, that he'd had to fly here from California without knowing any details. Then again, he probably wouldn't have come if he had known the truth. Not that I needed him now, but I guessed I should be glad to know he'd come if I was on my deathbed. I'd have to remember that for when it actually happened...and hope he didn't think I was crying wolf.

Suddenly, I looked around. "Is Daphne with you?"

"She's in the waiting room. I wanted to check on you first. Please come with me to get her."

My chest was tight as I stood again and followed my brother. As much as I'd wanted to try to repair the fences between us these past months, I had rather hoped not to do it in person so I could relax and think straight. Now, I had nowhere to hide. And he wasn't exactly acting thrilled to see me.

Daphne stood as we entered the waiting room. She opened her mouth but suddenly glanced at Drake.

He held her gaze for a moment, until she closed her mouth, and then he nodded.

"Hi, Becca." She gave me a soft smile. Shy almost. "It's good to see you."

"Stop it. Come here." I held out my arms.

She hesitated again to glance at Drake—who nodded once more—before she ran into my embrace. Over her shoulder, I saw Drake stand up taller, his grimace disheartening. I couldn't tell if he was upset that I was hugging his wife, that she was so overjoyed to see me, or that I hadn't hugged him, too.

I brushed it off and smiled at her as she took a step back. "How are you? How's California treating you? Are you doing much modeling?"

"I'm great. I love the weather out there." Her shoulders hunched up as she grinned, clasping my fingers at our waists now. "And the jobs? The phone is ringing off the hook! I've built up my portfolio and have an audition for a commercial next week. Can you believe it? I can't wait! I want to tell you all—"

"Daphne."

It was just the one word, spoken with no inflection. Yet, she had apparently taken it as a command because her mouth snapped shut, and she released my hands. Without a word, she walked back to stand beside yet slightly behind Drake, her hands clasped in front of her, her eyes lowered.

"We've all had a long night. Now is not the time to play catch up."

Daphne nodded at Drake's explanation, although he wasn't even looking at her. He was watching me.

I matched my brother's frown. What the hell? I'd missed getting to know Daphne as my new sister-in-law. She was family. She had apparently missed me, as well. But now that he'd reconnected us, he was treating her as if she needed to ask permission to do anything but breathe. Shouldn't it be up to me if I wanted to talk to her now?

"Is he going to be okay?" Drake said, interrupting my thoughts.

It took me a moment to understand whom he was talking about. "Malcolm? Yes, he'll be fine. The worst is his broken leg. Nothing that won't heal with time."

"Good." He glanced around the sparsely decorated room. "Can we go somewhere private? To talk?"

I looked around as well, confused. There were more than enough cushioned chairs for the three of us. And we were alone. "It's the middle of the night. Isn't this—"

"I would prefer some place where we can close a door."

Oh, brother. Literally. I turned around and rolled my eyes. My mom would have been a better support person, despite the hysterics. I should have insisted they call her. Or maybe I had but I'd been in so much shock I'd said 'brother' when I meant 'mother.' Oh well, it was too late now.

Marge said we could hijack a conference room at the end of the floor. Once Daphne and I sat down across from each other at the end of a small, rectangular table—and he'd shut the door—Drake took the floor. He paced around the other end of the room as he spoke, his hands clasped behind his back as if he were a professor giving a lecture.

I tried to listen intently as my eldest brother talked for the next twenty minutes about what it meant to him to be a Master. Why he chose to have a relationship where his partner was a slave. Why Daphne had chosen him.

It had started out as a bedroom-only thing but had evolved into the other aspects of their lives, even before they were married. The closer they had gotten to their wedding, the more they had discussed and agreed that Daphne would try to be as submissive as possible within the home. Then they expanded it beyond those walls. Letting him be in control of everything. Relying solely on him to support her, although she could continue modeling as long as it didn't interfere with their relationship.

After the past few months, they were very close to being what is called in the scene as twenty-four/seven. Constantly staying in their roles, regardless of the situation or location. Even when sex wasn't involved.

I fisted my hands under the table when he admitted that the move had been the best thing that had happened for them. It gave them the space and opportunity to focus on just the two of them and building their bond. No distractions.

So family was suddenly a distraction? No longer important to them? Or just him? Why had I wasted so much time worrying about trying to reconcile?

He presented evidence that she hadn't lost her identity when she became his slave. That like him, she was working. She hung out with her own friends. Had her alone times to relax or have fun.

Yes, but apparently only with his blessing.

According to him, the respect and loyalty she showed him made him a better person. And her in turn. They were more than just husband and wife. They were lovers and best friends. Ultimately, Master and slave. It had been difficult at first, and they still had their occasional struggles, but it was worth it.

I was patient, sometimes having to bite my cheek while I bided my time for my turn to speak.

Drake finally sat down. He kept his back to Daphne, as if she wasn't there. She hadn't said a word at all in her own defense. In fact, whenever he had referred to her, he hadn't even used her name save for that brief moment in the waiting room when he obviously wanted her to stop talking.

Was that what he meant by her being as submissive as possible now? Keeping her mouth shut unless spoken to? Having no opinions? Seeking approval to hug her fucking sister-in-law? Ceasing to exist unless he acknowledged her? What kind of life was that? It sure sounded like she'd lost her identity by marrying him and choosing to be his slave in all meanings of the word.

I had discussed the Master/slave dynamic a little with Malcolm out of curiosity earlier this year. It drew a specific type of person to fill both roles. It hadn't attracted me then. And after hearing Drake talk like he had—seeing how Daphne was now, compared to the bubbly woman I had grown to know and confide in over the past three years—I was certain it never would. Even if Drake was taking embracing the Master role to the extremes.

I shivered, thinking that three out of the five men I knew in the scene had gone the way of Christian Grey. Had let the role—the title—go to their heads. I assumed it didn't for Darryl, Malcolm's chain-selling friend from the convention. I prayed that it never happened to Malcolm.

Drake lay his arms on the table, his hands clasped together like he was ready to drive home his point on a business deal. "So, Becca, do you see why the collaring ceremony was so important for me? For us?"

I'd thought of this moment more often than not ever since he walked out of my life. Finally confronting my brother because of the cavern he'd forged between us. Telling him in no uncertain terms what I thought of his attitude and his decisions on that cold December night. How I hated the way he'd treated Malcolm as I lay in a hospital bed recovering from a panic attack brought on by Drake's very actions. How he'd ignored us both until an accident brought us back together.

I'd imagined myself hitting his chest with my fists. Screaming until I was red in the face and out of breath with tears streaming down my cheeks as I'd done when we had fought as kids. Trying to force him to hear my side. In my head, he had clutched me close to him, apologizing profusely and begging to know what he had to do to put things right. I flinched as I realized that almost the very same thing had happened several hours ago in my living room. Just with Malcolm.

I glanced around Drake's shoulder at Daphne. At the choker she wore around her neck. And the quarter-sized heart pendant marred only by a small hole in the middle. The lights above us reflected off the polished silver of the chain and heart. I'd noticed it in the waiting room.

I could hear Darryl in my head now as he described a sample that was made of links of the same thickness as Daphne's necklace was. How they were small enough to look feminine but were incredibly strong. Impossible to snap if one yanked on the chain.

I had studied the pendant a little closer as Drake had talked. How it didn't hang on a loop from the chain as it would on a normal necklace. It seemed fastened between the links instead. And the chain itself was only long enough to encircle Daphne's pale neck, causing the heart to sit snug against her throat.

Now, as Drake leaned forward, I noticed a thin, black rope around his neck. It sat inside his shirt collar against his skin. And dangling from the rope—behind where the buttons of his polo shirt would conceal it—was a silver key.

I'd assumed the collar and leash at the ceremony were for show. Mere sex toys for their bedroom pleasure. But as he'd emphasized several times in his speech tonight, they no longer confined aspects of BDSM to their private quarters. That obedience was practiced wherever they were and that there was discipline for defiance. The severity of the former was dependent on the specific infraction. While most punishments were carried out in private, it wasn't always the case if he determined a lesson could be better learned immediately, even in the company of others.

I realized now that when he'd collared her, it was symbolic. He'd done it for every aspect of her life. The physical object of said collar had just changed for public display. He'd marked her as his. Owned her. Probably thought of her as his property. She'd mentioned that the night of the infamous party.

Which made me consider that as much as Drake had professed his wife was loyal to him, the fact that he'd brought her along raised doubts. Did he not trust her to be on her own over two-thousand miles away? Was he hoping to use her to convince me that their relationship worked? Or just maybe, she'd gotten so entrenched in the slave role that she ceased to know how to exist without him telling her what to do and how to do it. Or vise versa.

I wavered between wishing she'd stayed home so I didn't have to witness what they had become, and being grateful that she was here so I could see my brother in his true element.

It could have been the disaster with Malcolm. The altercation with Jesse and Juliet combined with my brother's diatribe—which strangely sounded like an extension of one Jesse had given me. Or quite possibly, just too many things had been fucked up in my life over the past year. Whatever it was, I felt emotionally and physically drained. I wanted to raise my white flag. But I had one last battle left in me before I gave him the war.

My legs threatened to give out as I moved to stand behind my chair. It was mostly for support, but it also created a barrier between us. I closed my eyes to count to ten and then took a deep breath.

When I opened my eyes, both Drake and Daphne were staring at me.

The first wore a slight smirk, cracking the gloom that had been written all over his face since he'd surprised me. He looked confident that he'd pleaded his case effectively. He had sat back but suddenly leaned forward again with expectation...as if I was going to make a confession he'd been waiting a long time to hear. He was about to be sorely disappointed.

The other one was worrying her lower lip. Her eyes looked soulful. They suddenly dropped to the table as our gazes met, as if she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have. That tugged at my heartstrings. She'd willingly put herself in this situation. Yet she definitely did not look happy.

I tried to take another deep breath to calm my nerves, but it came out shaky, belying my confidence.

"Drake, I want you to know that you hurt me. You didn't talk to me about your ceremony beforehand. You didn't ask me if I wanted to be involved. You just insisted I be there because it was what you wanted. You went from being a dominant man to a dictator. And damn anyone who dare challenge you. Including your blood. Never in my life have I been more ashamed of you."