Page 119 of The Sadist and the Brat

He set the decanter down, carefully replaced the stopper, and walked backward until he could no longer smell licorice. Then, helpless to do anything else, he sat down on one of the bar stools lining the kitchen counter and laughed himself breathless.

* * * *

Sadie knew her parents would already be in bed, so she used her key to let herself in. She’d made a quick trip to the basement to raid her father’s tool drawer and dragged her suitcase to her childhood bedroom on the second floor. Her mom had turned it into a guest room years earlier, but the floorboard still creaked in the same place, and the street light cast the same shadows on the wall that they had when she was a child, and she took comfort in those small things as she used her dad’s Allen wrench set to take the collar off.

Then she stripped off her Christmas lights, crawled under the covers, and tried to sleep.

She must have managed to nod off at some point, because the next thing she knew the sun was streaming through the window. Groggy and bleary-eyed from the restless night, she got out of bed in search of coffee.

The kitchen was empty, but the full coffee pot told her someone else was up. She helped herself to a cup, then sat at the counter and turned on her phone.

She went through the texts first—and there were a lot. The ones from her girlfriends had gone fromwhere are you?andare you okay?tocall me when you canandI’m here if you want to talk, and had her blinking back sentimental tears.

The ones from the Doms were much sterner, though the sentiment was the same. Still, she knew if she texted any one of them, word would make its way back to Jack almost before she could put her phone away. Which was fine with her—he’d know she was safe without her having to actually talk to him yet—but it meant she had to be careful with the information she shared.

With a deep breath for courage, she tapped on Jack’s name, surprised to see there were only three texts from him. The first one from last night readSam said he took you home, but you’re not here—please let me know you’re safe, Sadie.The second readSERIOUSLY?!?,and she barked out a laugh. From the time stamp, she assumed it had come after he’d discovered her sabotage. And the third, which had arrived six-fifty-three a.m., read simply,I missed you last night.

She stared at those five words until they started to blur, then blinked her vision clear and switched to her voicemails.

She frowned. Though she had several missed calls from Jack, he’d only left one voicemail. It had come in shortly after the first text, and after a moment’s hesitation, she hit play and raised the phone to her ear.

“Sadie, I need you to pick up the phone,” he said, his voice echoing slightly. She could hear traffic noises in the background, and the thump of his fingers tapping the steering wheel, the way he did when he was agitated, or thinking. “Sam told me what you overheard, and I promise you, Sadie, I wasnotgiving you to Joel.”

There was a pause, and in the background, the honk of a car horn.

“I don’t know if you actually believed that’s what I was doing,” he went on, “in which case, we really need to talk, or if something else has you running scared. In which case, we really need to talk.”

“No, we don’t,” she muttered.

“I’m not going to get into it over voicemail,” he continued, “but there are things I haven’t told you. And I see now that I should have.

“I’m on my way to your place now, and I’m hoping you’ll let me in. If not…”

He trailed off on a curse. “If not, then we’ll talk when you’re ready.”

There was another pause, another curse. “And if you decide you want me to leave you alone, I’ll respect that. But I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk, whether that’s in a day or a year. I’ll be here.”

The voicemail ended, and Sadie lowered her phone to her lap. Ignoring the coffee, she opened up a new text to Sam.

You up?

Almost immediately, those three little ‘I’m typing’ dots appeared.

Yes. Are you okay?

Fine,she replied.Can I call you?

This time, instead of the dots, her phone rang. She answered. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replied, his voice hushed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Why are you whispering?”

“Collette’s asleep,” he told her. “Hang on, I’m going into the kitchen.”

She looked at the kitchen clock, realized it was just past nine. Early for a Sunday morning. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“I was awake,” he assured her at normal volume. “And I needed coffee anyway. Where are you?”

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