Chapter 5

Sahara was so relieved when she got home, she walked straight in and got to the kitchen before she realized something was off. Her door hadn’t been locked. And there was someone in her house.

The urge to scream lodged in her throat, and she froze when she saw Grant sitting at her kitchen table. When he stood, she knew she had to run. But her body ignored the command her mind was screaming. He came toward her, and she winced as he put his hand on her arm.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I swear, the door was unlocked when I got here.” His grip tightened when she finally calmed enough to try to pull away. “You have to listen to me. Sit down. We’ll figure out who did this.”

He pointed at the far wall. The window seat Scott had made her was in pieces, the wood chopped up like someone had taken an ax to it. But she didn’t see an ax. Or any weapons. Not that he needed them to hurt her, or worse. Grant didn’t want to kill her, did he?

This wouldn’t be the first time she had wondered that, but she wasn’t the scared girl who’d once stayed with him because she was too afraid to get away. Or because she let him convince her he was going to change.

“My friends are waiting for me. I have to go.” She twisted free and put some distance between them. She knew the exact amount of space she needed to avoid the swing of his fist. It was easier when he was drunk. Unfortunately, he seemed perfectly sober. She’d have to pick her words carefully. “I’ll file a report with the police. Thank you for watching the place for me.”

His eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, his jaw hardening when she skidded back. “You don’t believe me. You still think I’ll hurt you.”

“No, it’s not that, Grant. If I keep my friends waiting, they’ll come looking. And they won’t buy your story about—”

“My story? Are you fucking kidding me?” He brought his hand up and she cringed, but he simply raked his fingers through his hair. “I know you were out with Dominik Mason. And that you two argued. There are pictures online, and I’m not surprised that it didn’t work out. He’s not right for you. I came here to prove that you could count on me to be your friend. Like we talked about.”

Okay, she wasn’t sure he was listening to himself. Even if there were pictures of her and Dominik, how would he have seen them unless he was checking up on her? A phone call would have been reasonable. Showing up at her home…?

But pointing that out would piss him off. So she forced a smile and nodded. “That was thoughtful of you. I appreciate it. Maybe we can talk tomorrow?”

“Because your ‘friends’ are waiting? Don’t lie to me. I saw you pull up in a cab. And get out alone.” He reached for her again, then slammed his fist into his thigh when she shifted again. “Stop being such a fucking drama queen. Did you mean a word you said about us being friends?”

“Yes.” She bit into her inner cheek, fighting not to tremble. The terror that tightened her throat made it hard to breathe. She had meant it. She’d been that fucking stupid. The rage in his eyes proved he hadn’t changed at all. “Please, Grant. You have to understand how this looks. I’m a little freaked out. I’ll stay at a friend’s house and—”

“Whose house? Not Dominik’s, he ditched you. Did he see how nuts you can be?” Grant smirked when she bit her bottom lip. “That’s it, isn’t it? You went nuts on him and he lost interest. Smart man.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to fight with you. Just sit down. Tell me how many guys you’ve pissed off and maybe we’ll get a better idea of who could have done this.”

She’d never reach the door with him standing, but maybe if she got him to relax a little, she could make a run for it. She nodded, moving toward the table. He pulled out a chair. Sat down.

Spinning on her heels, she bolted to the front door. She heard him behind her and knew she hadn’t been fast enough. His hand flattened on the door before she could open it. His other hand latched on to her jaw, fingers digging in until she cried out.

“Why do you do this? I’m fucking trying, Sahara!”

Reacting without thinking, she drove her knee up into his groin. He let out a shout and stumbled back. She opened the door and took the stairs two at a time, losing both her shoes before she reached the parking lot. In her car, she fumbled with her keys. Got it started.

Grant stepped in front of the car. Hit the hood and shouted at her, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Panic had her blood pulsing in her ears. She leaned on the horn and hit the gas.

He jumped out of the way just in time to avoid getting hit.

Tears blinded her as she drove, but she was afraid to stop. She hooked up her phone to her Bluetooth and tried calling Jami. No answer.

She couldn’t call Akira. Cort would find Grant and kill him. Right now, she wasn’t sure she cared if Grant wasn’t around, but…damn it, no. She didn’t want him dead. And she really didn’t want Cort back in jail.

Red and blue lights flashed in the rear-view mirror. She pulled over and quickly dried her tears. Damn it, could tonight go any worse? She rolled down her window and thunked her head back against the seat when she saw the woman in uniform, whose dark brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun, was none other than Officer Laura Tallent, who was in a relationship with two of the Cobras. Sahara didn’t think Laura was much of a gossip, but she told her Domme—the fourth in their interesting quad—everything.

And her Domme, Chicklet, was best friends with the Cobras’ assistant coach. So one way or another, everyone would find out about her getting pulled over and why if she didn’t come up with a good excuse for driving erratically. Or fast. Or whatever she’d done.

They’ll find out anyway if you report this. Which you should.

“Fuck my life.” Sahara pulled out her license and registration, holding them out before Laura could even ask. “I’m sorry, Officer Tallent. I didn’t realize I was speeding.”

“You weren’t. You drove through three stop signs.”

Of all the… Sahara pressed her eyes shut. Running stop signs wasn’t much better than speeding. She’d been so distracted, she could have driven straight into another car. Or a person. Her whole body started to shake and bile rose in her throat. Her eyes teared as she struggled to keep from throwing up or passing out.

“Sahara, are you okay?” Laura’s professional demeanor softened as her deep blue eyes widened with concern. She leaned closer to the window. “I can’t see you being this upset about a ticket. What’s going on?”

There was no easy way to explain, and Sahara felt too damn raw to hold anything back. “Someone broke into my house. He was still there when I walked in and I was scared, so I took off. I should have called the cops, but I just needed to get out of there. I can’t believe I was so fucking stupid. He won’t change—I really wanted to believe he’d change. My life is so much better now and I could have forgiven him.”

“Whoa, wait a second. Did you know the person who broke into your house?”

Sahara nodded and met Laura’s eyes. “Yes. It was my ex-boyfriend, Grant Higgins.”

“Shit. All right, are you willing to file a report? If you’re too shaken to drive, you can call someone to pick up your car and I’ll bring you to the station.” Laura straightened when Sahara nodded again, looking relieved to have a purpose beyond discussing something so personal. She was a great cop and a good woman, but Sahara had never seen her hanging out with the other Cobra ladies.

She had her job and she had Chicklet. Sahara wasn’t sure how her two men fit into the relationship; the few times she’d seen them at the club, the balance seemed a little uncertain. Not that Sahara could ever hope to make sense of it, she couldn’t imagine managing more than one other person in her life like that.

Not like any of that mattered. Laura would take care of whatever needed to be handled. Privacy meant a lot less than safety right now, and Sahara just wanted to get as far as possible out of Grant’s reach.

Who could she ask to get her car though? They’d have to come pick her up after; she couldn’t expect Laura to babysit her all night.

If she managed to convince Laura and Chicklet not to tell anyone—she needed someone who wasn’t in a relationship. Someone who wasn’t into gossip.

There was always Pischlar. She trusted him enough to scene with at the club. He had a weird relationship with his best friend, Ian White, but they’d been spending less time together recently. And even if White was with him, he never did seem to pay much attention to what was going on around him.

The man wasn’t stupid, despite what many seemed to think. He just looked at the world in such a straightforward way that subtle bullshit went right over his head. Almost as though he felt, if people really wanted him to know what was going on, they’d tell him directly. If not, it wasn’t his business and he didn’t need to worry about it.

“Can you call Shawn Pischlar?” Sahara climbed out of the car as Laura opened the door. Then leaned against the hood while Laura pulled out her cell phone, one brow lifted in question. “I’m afraid if I talk to him now, he’ll assume the worst.”

Laura grinned, her eyes sparkling with wry amusement. “I’m sure him getting a call on your behalf from the police won’t give him the impression that this is good news.”

Damn it, she’s right. Sahara combed her fingers into her hair, dropping her head back and groaning.

One hand up, Laura shook her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he knows you’re all right. If he sees my number and assumes there’s a problem, he’ll think it’s about White or Vanek.”

Not much better. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But it was too late. Laura apparently had Pischlar on speed dial. Which, considering Pischlar was one of the few who could handle White, wasn’t all that surprising.

“Hey, Shawn. No, White’s not in trouble. Excuse me? No, Raif doesn’t want another…” Laura’s cheeks reddened. “I really wouldn’t know, Sir. You’ll have to ask her.”

Oh boy. Yep, very big mistake.

“In case you didn’t notice, I am calling from my work phone—yes, I’m absolutely positive it’s not White. Sahara’s dealt with an emotional trauma and she’s not fit to drive. I’m bringing her to the station to file a report. She wanted to know if you could pick up her car.”

After a brief pause, Laura smiled and nodded. Sahara felt some of the tension ease from her chest.

“Yes. I radioed in for a unit to meet me here. They’ll have her keys. I’ll give them your name.” Laura’s brow furrowed slightly. “I’m not sure how long this will take. She might not want you to… Fine, I’ll tell her.”

After hanging up, Laura met Sahara’s eyes. “He’ll meet you at the station in about twenty minutes. He said not to speak to anyone without a lawyer. I do think the poor boy’s spent too much time with the trouble triplets.”

The slight Southern drawl in Laura’s tone made Sahara smile. She could almost forget why she was going to the police station as she sat in the back of Laura’s car, staring into the darkness. Could almost forget why she couldn’t go home.

But just almost. The one good thing was this wasn’t like the last time she’d had to escape Grant. Back then, she’d pushed away so many friends for daring to show concern that she’d had no one left to turn to. If she hadn’t gotten the opportunity to come to Dartmouth and perform with the Cobras’ Ice Girls…?

She had no idea where she’d be now. Maybe just miserable and depressed like she’d been for far too long while stuck in that relationship. More than likely, Grant would have killed her. She’d gone back and forth between believing he’d eventually have beaten her to death and convincing herself there was no way it would have gone that far. He’d gotten progressively more violent near the end, but…

Damn it, after tonight, it made even less sense than ever that she’d defend him. She’d lost her home, possibly twice now. She’d alienated family and friends. Why couldn’t she just see him for what he was?

Because they don’t know him. And I do. I’ve seen him kind and gentle and sweet.

She’d also seen him cold and cruel and vicious.

Reporting him won’t change anything. His lawyers will be calling you in the morning.

Let them. She refused to cower again. At least no one else had gotten hurt because she’d tried to leave it all behind her and not look back. She couldn’t even quite explain why she felt so fucking confused and guilty, but taking part of the blame was almost easier than believing the man she’d loved was that heartless. That he could tell her how much she meant to him one minute, then beat her down the next.

They pulled up in front of the station. Laura came around the car to meet Sahara on the sidewalk. A weariness had stolen into Laura’s eyes, and she sounded worn out as she rested her hip against the side of her car, making no move to go into the station.

“You seem uncertain, Sahara. I can’t force you to come in and file a report. I’m sure you know that if he can hurt you, he’ll do the same to any woman he’s with. Besides that, you’re not safe. If he’s gotten to the point that he’s breaking into your apartment, there’s no telling what he will do next.” She took a deep breath. “If you file a report, and follow through with pressing charges, we can bring him to court. Maybe get him out of here for good.”

If the charges stuck. And if Grant’s lawyers didn’t find a way to make her look like a liar or a slut or whatever else they could manage to discredit her testimony.

Jaw clenched, she met Laura’s steady gaze. The woman was probably used to victims being unable to follow through. And seeing the terrible consequences. Sahara wouldn’t be yet another one of them.

“I’m doing this. I won’t lie, I’m scared to death. But I refuse to give him that kind of power again. This is my home and I’m not running or hiding. I’m ready to do whatever I have to.” Sahara’s heart raced, almost as though saying the words out loud meant she was ready to climb into the pit and face whatever came at her. And she wasn’t ready.

But there was no going back now.

Laura’s smile was brilliant as she pushed away from the car. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that. Come on, sweetie. I’ll take you to the victims’ advocate. He’s a great guy.”

Great or not, by the time Sahara was done filling out the report, answering all the questions, and having pictures taken of the bruises on her face, she wasn’t sure she could keep from bursting into tears any longer. To file a restraining order, she had to bring up parts of the past she’d tried to bury deep. Reliving it all had her feeling like she’d gotten another beating. Like every officer in the station could see each and every bruise Grant had ever left on her body.

But when she came out of the back office, she spotted Pischlar, who was getting suspicious looks from the cops around him even though his black jean jacket covered most of his tattoos. He did look a bit like he could have been brought in wearing cuffs with his semi-mohawk and plug earrings, but all she saw was the understanding in his green eyes. He strode right up to her and took her in his arms, making it easy to toss aside her shield and take the strength he offered. His solid chest, the steel of the muscles in the arms he wrapped around her, the fact that he hadn’t said a single word, but somehow knew exactly what she needed, all made him exactly who she needed at that moment.

Her nose and her eyes were leaking though, and she was suddenly worried about getting his shirt wet. She sniffed and peered up at him. “Get me out of here, Pisch?”

“Not a problem, pretty girl.” He put his arm around her shoulders, nodded to Laura, and then guided Sahara out to the street. After opening the passenger’s side door of her car, he waited for her to get settled, then crouched down and rubbed her thigh. “Where to? Do you want to go home?”

“No!” She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to gulp back the panic that had burst out with her reply. The very idea of going home made her skin crawl. Grant would come back. He wouldn’t care about the restraining order. “Bring me to a hotel or…or something. I don’t want to wake up Jami or Akira.” Her throat tightened. “I did it again. She was right. Cort was right too, but I was horrible to him and—”

“Enough of that now, Liebling. They’ll both understand.” His lips pursed slightly and his brow creased in thought. “I don’t like the idea of bringing you to a hotel. Are you comfortable coming back to my place? If not, I’ll see if Chicklet—”

“I’m fine with you. I love Chicklet, but she’s just as likely to hunt down Grant as Cort is.”

“But you don’t think I am?”

“Are you?”

The edges of his lips quirked and he shook his head. “No. I’m seeing to you. Higgins will get what’s coming to him.” Pisch reached up and gently touched her chin, running his fingers along her jaw. “This his handiwork?”

“It’s nothing.” She brushed his hand away gently. She hadn’t seen the marks, but after the looks she’d gotten, it was probably ugly. A constant reminder of yet another mistake. One she didn’t need. “Can we go somewhere? I don’t care where at this point. I just don’t want to be here anymore.”

He nodded quickly and stood. “Consider us gone. And I won’t mention what happened again, but I’m here if you need to talk.”

“I appreciate this so much, Pisch.” She hugged herself as he shot her a small smile before closing the door and moving around the car.

True to his word, Pischlar didn’t bring up anything during the drive. He turned the radio on, cranking the volume when he noticed her singing under her breath. When they got to his apartment, he led the way, opening the door and letting her in without comment.

His apartment was cleaner than that of any guy she’d ever known, but not so polished that she was afraid to touch anything. Pulling off the disposable blue booties she’d gotten at the police station to cover her bare feet, she ducked into the bathroom to toss them in the trash, then went to the living room.

While she perched on the sofa, Pischlar disappeared into the kitchen. She heard the sound of running water.

“Feel like a tea? I have soda too. Or beer?” His tone was relaxed, like she was just here to hang out.

Which made him even more awesome. She smiled and stood, walking over to the doorway of the kitchen. “A tea would be nice.”

“Regular or herbal?”

“Do you have chamomile? I need to get my sleep for the show tomorrow.” Her smile faded as she realized, unless some kind of miracle happened, she’d be at the Forum while Grant was there. And he would find her.

Pischlar put down the kettle and closed the distance between them, cupping her cheeks in his hands. “Listen to me. Even if, by some fuckup in the legal system, Grant is at the game, you have nothing to worry about. He’s not getting anywhere near you. I’m not big on violence, but I’ll make an exception if I need to. And you know very well that goes for the rest of the team.”

“People are going to find out, aren’t they?” She didn’t want anyone to know. She was ashamed, and she knew she had no reason to be. Well, except for the fact that she’d kept it a secret and given Grant the chance to come at her again. Or worse, victimize someone else.

Since they’d broken up, Grant had only been seen with high-profile models, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t hurt any of them. She could hope he hadn’t. He was charming at first. The perfect gentleman.

If he’d gotten violent with one of them, word would have spread, right? They wouldn’t put up with him treating them badly.

You did.

Yes, but she wasn’t anyone special.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Okay, she knew she wasn’t making any sense. She was tired of being in her own head. Maybe she’d feel better in the morning. Maybe things would be clear.

“Sahara, look at me.” Pischlar smoothed her hair away from her face. “You’re not alone anymore. You’ve done nothing wrong. Actually, I’m damn proud of you for taking the steps you needed to, but I get why you didn’t before. You are a strong, beautiful person. You’ve been through hell. And I can’t promise it’s over, but you are going to let us help now. You’re never going to have to face him again without either one of the guys or a fucking cop by your side. Think about that, rather than whatever else is going on in that pretty little head.”

“Oh, Pisch.” She gave him a playful shove and laughed. “You were doing so good until you pulled the ‘pretty little head’ thing.”

He put his hands up in surrender. “My bad. I blame the language barrier. It’s a compliment in German.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Bullshit.”

“True.” He winked and headed back to the kettle. “But you smiled and laughed, so my job here is done. I take blow jobs as tips.”

Her eyes went wide as she stared at his back. “You did not just say that.”

“Okay.”

The man was impossible. But he was right. She was smiling and the stress had been shelved for the moment. She also knew he was joking. If Pischlar wanted a blow job during a scene, he’d never been shy about putting her on her knees.

Her cheeks heated as she considered the times he’d done just that. They’d only scened a handful of times, but often enough to move past the “getting to know you” stage. She’d kissed him. Had her hands and her mouth on his dick. Had his fingers inside her and his lips and his tongue…

Not the time to be thinking about that, girl. He’s a friend.

A very hot friend.

Stop it!

Pischlar patted her arm. “Here’s your tea. And get that look off your face or I’m gonna put this on the counter and get you up on that table.”

She ducked her head and pulled out a seat. He chuckled and set the mug down in front of her.

The front door swung open and slammed into the wall, shattering the lighthearted, flirty mood.

“Damn it, White! I have neighbors!” Pischlar rolled his eyes and patted her shoulder before heading into the hall. “Are you drunk?”

“I took a cab. Don’t nag, man.” White stumbled into the living room and collapsed on the sofa, his white shirt and tie both undone and wrinkled, but of a quality that told her he’d probably started the night dressed nicely. He raked his overgrown brown hair away from his face and dropped his head back on a cushion. “Can I ask you something?”

Coming up behind Pischlar, Sahara sipped her tea, feeling horrible for being yet another who’d apparently decided Pischlar needed to take care of them tonight.

At least she was sober.

Pischlar crossed the room and took something out of White’s hand. A flask. Lovely.

He glanced back at her and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

“Hi, Sahara!” White sprawled back on the sofa. “Maybe I should ask you too. I want to ask Tim. But Tim’s gone. Fuck, I miss him.”

Oh boy. Sahara inhaled slowly. The mention of Tim brought a stab of pain to her chest. Apparently, White was a sad drunk. And he hadn’t dealt with Tim’s death very well, so every time he drank, he probably relived all the emotions he hadn’t faced.

She wasn’t much better though, so she wouldn’t judge. There was a reason she rarely picked up so much as a beer anymore.

“What happened, White?” The stance and tone was very different than the open sympathy Pischlar had shown her. Almost defensive, like he knew whatever White would say would hurt. “You asked me to help you dress appropriately for your first date with the new girl. Unless you acted like a caveman, she should have been—”

“Do I look gay?” White sat up and looked down at the creases in his dark gray dress pants. “I brought her somewhere nice. I was on my best behavior. I remembered the fork and everything.”

“Yep, that definitely makes you gay.” Pischlar sighed. “Don’t keep me guessing. Other than letting another man suck your dick, nothing you’ve ever done makes you gay. Unless you opened the conversation with how bad Richards is at giving blow jobs.”

Sahara bit the inside of her cheek to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. White and Richards?

White scowled at Pischlar. “Why the hell would I do that? That would be stupid.”

“So what did you do?”

“Nothing! Well, okay, this guy was hitting on me. And I was trying to be nice, but then he slipped his number under my glass and the chick saw him. She acted all weird after, so I had to show her I wasn’t into him, but…” White frowned. “Well, maybe I didn’t have to. She was kinda stuck-up. But when he grabbed my ass, I was pissed. So I slew-footed him. He went down. People freaked. And she took off and told me not to call her. She said she knew I was one of those.”

“That’s it?” Pischlar shrugged. “Caveman then. I warned you about that. Not many chicks get off on the guy they’re with throwing his weight around.”

“Uh-huh. But she’d asked me about you. And when I said you were cool and we were friends…well, she asked how good of friends. Like, huh? Not sure what she meant. She asked for details. I told her we watched Avengers last week. She looked bored.” White rubbed his temples. “The first time the guy came on to me, she looked all happy. Then she was all mad when I tripped him and said I don’t like dudes touching me.”

“Ah. Okay, I get it.” Pischlar shook his head and turned back to the kitchen. “You need water. And better taste in women. I’m happy you took a cab. When did you start drinking?”

“After she left. People were staring at me and I hate that shit. You know how much I hate it.” White accepted the bottle Pischlar brought him, tipping it to his lips to drain half. “I left and found a bar. Another guy came on to me and I almost punched him. But it was Ford’s bar, so he stopped me. And he didn’t charge me for anything. I talked to him. He’s awesome. I love Ford.”

“I bet. Did he hit on you too?” Pischlar had White’s flask in his hand. He glared at it, then set it aside. “I’m sure he gets where you’re coming from.”

“He does. But then Cort came in and he got all weird. They talked. No touching, but I kinda wondered…maybe they want to be gay? Can someone want that? Like…why would you? I’m confused.” White groaned and plunked down on the sofa. “I bought a bottle. And drank most of it. Cort told me I needed to go home. But I wanted to come here.” His brow furrowed. “You mad at me?”

“Why would I be?” Pischlar grabbed a blanket off the back of the sofa and laid it over Sahara’s knees as she settled into the armchair a few feet away. “I’m an awesome friend. Feel free to tell me all about your fucked-up night. I clearly have nothing else going on.”

White cocked his head and glanced over at Sahara. “But she’s here.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Did I interrupt?” White chewed on his bottom lip, and Pischlar made a strained sound as he spent more time than necessary fixing Sahara’s blanket. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Pischlar sighed. “I’m being an asshole. I’m sorry. I just don’t get why you let your agent set you up with chicks. They’re either shallow or stupid. Or, like this one, want things you can’t give them.”

“What did she want? I figured she was just mad because of what I did. That was stupid. I just don’t like random people touching me. And he thought I was gay. And I’m not.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Does it matter?” Pischlar disappeared into the hall, returning with another blanket for White. “We have a game tomorrow. Drink your water. I’ll get you more. And you’re gonna forget that girl.”

“Okay.” White flung an arm over his face. “I need better girls. I’m no good at this. It was more fun when you came out with me. They’re nice with you.”

“They expect nothing.”

“Which is cool. I’m tired, Shawn. Can I crash here?”

Pischlar went still and stared at White as he closed his eyes. He spread the blanket over the other man, looking like he’d been punched in the gut. “Stay. But don’t call me that. I’m Pisch. Or Easy. Always ‘Easy.’”

Damn it, Sahara couldn’t ignore what she’d seen. Or the pain in Pischlar’s eyes. White wasn’t perceptive sober. Drunk, he’d flung out his issues carelessly and Pischlar had taken a few hits. She rose from the chair and wrapped her arms around him from behind.

“I’m sorry I was part of all the drama you had to deal with tonight. Let me make it better?”

Arching a brow, Pischlar looked over his shoulder at her. “How?”

“I need to be held tonight. And so do you. The rest can wait for the morning.” She pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. “Please?”

“Yes.” He drew her before him and wrapped his arms around her waist, breathing into her hair. “That sounds like the perfect fucking plan.”