Page 185 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

Darker.

He takes me deeper into his world, where pain and pleasure merge into something exquisite and addictive—floggers, paddles, a riding crop that kisses my skin with fire.

Gabe is methodical and exacting in his work. He watches me with that dark, focused intensity as I unravel for him, stroke by stroke. He’s physical, raw, and visceral in his need to take, but never without purpose, love, and reverence.

Every sting of his hand is matched by a gentling touch after, his voice low, praising, always pulling me back, and he certainly delivers pleasure in equal measure to pain.

Gabe claims me with fire.

Hank masters me with control.

Between them, I’m undone—rebuilt, cherished, and wanted in ways I never dreamed possible. But at the core of everything—the heart of us—is the three of us.

Sometimes they take turns, one holding me down while the other fucks me until I scream. Sometimes, they take me together, leaving me wrecked and begging for more.

And through it all, I forget the world outside this home—the pressure, the past, the future waiting justbeyond the cliffs.

While my nights belong to them, when the sun rises, I don’t stay tangled in bedsheets and surrender.

I learn to fight.

Over coffee—my muscles deliciously sore, skin still humming from the night before—I stir my mug and glance between them. “Jenna has a panic room.”

That gets their attention.

“And a pistol,” I continue. “Stitch reconfigured the biometric lock. It’ll recognize all of us now. She brought more weapons, too—we’ve been hiding them around the apartment.”

Gabe lifts a brow. “Smart move.”

“I thought so. And… Mia, Rebel, and Sophia are learning self-defense. I want in.”

Gabe nods slowly, something shifting in his gaze. “We figured you would. We just didn’t want to push too soon.”

I meet his eyes. “Because of… the trauma.”

His jaw flexes, but his voice stays gentle. “Yeah. You’ve been through enough. We weren’t going to risk retraumatizing you before you had solid ground under your feet.”

“But now? You’re ready.” Hank sets his coffee down and holds my gaze with that steel-eyed certainty that always settles something in me. “You need more than a weapon. You need to know how to use it. A gun in untrained hands is a liability. We’ll teach you to shoot. From scratch.”

“You don’t think I’m overdoing it?” I ask, quieter now.

“Not at all.” Hank leans in, steady and calm. “We’ve been waiting for this. For you.” His words hit me low and warm, coiling deep in my chest. “You’re not just someone we protect, Ally. You’re someone wearm.”

Gabe taps his knuckles on the table, his eyes softer now. “We want you to be able to save yourself—if it ever comes to that.”

“I don’t want to be helpless anymore.”

Their approval lands like a promise I didn’t know I needed.

“Then you won’t be,” Hank says.

And just like that, my days find a new rhythm.

Mornings start early, with Hank dragging me from warm sheetsand into tight ponytails, stretch bands, and breathless reps on the back deck. Hank shows me how to drive power from my hips. Gabe corrects my form and catches my wrists when I overextend. Every strike earns praise. Every improvement, a nod of silent pride. The work is brutal. Beautiful.

Mine.

After breakfast, we go again—this time with holds and leverage. Gabe pins me fast and shows me how to break out. Hank shows me how to hurt if I need to. My body starts remembering things: how to fight back; how to win.

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