Page 1 of Marking Micah

CHAPTER 1

You can do it. Breathe. It’s okay.

But it wasn’t. Three years later, and it still wasn’t okay. She wasn’t okay.

Micah watched as Chara was suspended from a hard point in the ceiling. The rope work was beautiful, the patterns intricate, and she could see her friend was in subspace heaven, her eyes glossy, reflecting the dim lights of the club. Her own pulse hammered, hot and thready in her veins. But it wasn’t the shivering, heady excitement she used to feel at the club.

She did everything her therapist had instructed her to do: took slow, deep breaths, reminded herself that she was safe now. But all she could see in her mind’s eye was her own body falling and hitting the floor with what sounded like an explosion going off in her head as her bones shattered.

With the images came that all-too familiar acceleration of her heartbeat. A sense of dread. Fear. Heartbreak. And so much pain.

Despite how long it had been, she could still barely watch a rope bondage demo. She knew her bestie Chara was an experienced rope bunny, that her Top was one of the best riggers in Dallas. In the state of Texas, probably. But no matter howmany times she’d tried, every rope scene brought the memories and the trauma rushing back in such a visceral way it made her sick to her stomach.

She’d never forget the sensation of slamming into the floor from eight feet above, the loud crack like the sharp blast of a gunshot as her head hit the floor. The snapping of the bones in her arm, her ankle, and her collarbone. It had been so loud, filling her head up until she was drowning in the noise. She hadn’t heard much other than that and the throbbing of her own blood pooling in her head, until days later.

When she’d woken from the surgeries, her rope Top—her Dom—Brett, had been gone. Fucking gone. He’d just disappeared, leaving her body—and her heart—broken.

Asshole.

“Hey, you okay?”

She turned to where her friend Arrow sat beside her, as he did every time she attempted to watch rope work.

She shrugged, not wanting to look at him, hoping the façade she always put on at the club was working so she’d stop being the object of everyone’s pity. She couldn’t stand it. But he knew. He always knew when she wasn’t okay. And despite her feelings of being a burden of some sort, he was still there.

He was always there. At her side. Having her back. Holding her when she needed it.

He leaned in to whisper, “C’mon. Let’s go out to the social area and have something to drink.”

She waved her hand. “No, I’m fine,” she began to protest, knowing it was a lie.

“You’re not. And we’re going.”

He took her hand, but gently, despite his commanding tone, and she let him help her to her feet and lead her into the front room. It was brightly lit, with comfortable couches and chairswhere a handful of people sat in pairs or small groups talking quietly. He led her to a loveseat.

“Sit.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” she tried to joke, but the words sounded weak even to her own ears.

“Micah. Do it.”

He was her friend and had been for the last five years—the best possible friend. But God, sometimes his voice made her shiver in a way it probably shouldn’t.

Maybe it was his lean, muscled body. Or all the tattoos. Or his ruggedly handsome face. Or maybe it was knowing about the steel barbell piercing his left nipple. She’d never seen it—he never took his shirt off at the club—but he’d mentioned it once or twice, and that was all she’d needed.

Oh, yeah, it was probably the piercing.

Stop it. He’s your friend.

“Okay, okay. I’m sitting.”

She plopped down onto the loveseat, and he gave a nod of his chin, silently warning her not to move, then he went to the small kitchen area to grab drinks from an ice chest, returning a moment later with a mineral water for her and a Coke for himself. Settling in beside her, he arched a dark brow.

“Okay, sunshine. Talk to me.”

She shrugged. “What is there to talk about? It’s the same old thing, Arrow. Nothing seems to help.”

“You just need time, Micah.”

---