11. April 19th

APRIL 19TH

TB

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What the hell is wrong with you?

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We need to talk.

TB actually wincedas he looked at the message from his fake text account. He knew exactly why she wanted to talk.

He wasn't surprised she knew about him ghosting Flame. What surprised him was that she hadn't discovered his dumbassery sooner because he'd been to the club every night. Then again, he had been doing an excellent job of avoiding the club owner.

While avoiding her, he'd started conversations with the other Doms. The ones on contracts or in permanent relationships had few observations to add on the single subs. The ones who played around with a wide variety of subs had little knowledge because they were trying to remain unattached and didn't often repeat with partners. Since Cosmos was overseas, it would have been a while before he'd known something was wrong.

He'd chatted up the submissives. That had been painful. Every one of them thought he was looking to play.

He talked to staff members who knew everyone and most of the gossip that people thought was private—after all, staff were often invisible as human beings unless a member was actively in need of one, and that was by design. However, members did come and go in waves, so no one thought anything of people they hadn't seen in a while. Even Ryleigh hadn't thought much of not seeing the girls in question.

Currently, he sat at the conference room table at Tribe Corporation, rubbing a piece of cream ribbon between his fingers, totally tuned out to the conversation around him. He'd found it in his pocket when he got undressed that night after being with Flame. Without thinking about it, he'd pocketed it every day, not able to leave his apartment without it.

Waters was briefing them on the upcoming trip tomorrow to Egypt to search for Zahra and Ka-Bar. Hell knew how long they'd be gone this time because he didn't think they'd be coming back until they found at least one of them.

He didn't owe Tabitha anything, but out of respect for her relationship with Flame, he would meet with her.

He owed Flame an explanation. And an apology. He wasn't good at those. Most of the time, he didn't give enough fucks to apologize for any of his actions. In fact, he couldn't remember apologizing to anyone for anything. Ever.

Maybe it would just be better if you delivered your head on a platter. Or both of them.

It was then that he realized the meeting was over, and it was just him and Steel at the table. While the men worked interchangeably amongst each other to suit their strengths, Nemo and Demon tended to partner together, as did TB and Steel. Because of that, Steel was very attuned to his moods. Sometimes, it felt like he could even read TB's thoughts.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

"What do you want, Steel?"

After a couple of moments, he nodded at the ribbon in TB's fingers. "She's really got your guts in a twist, doesn't she?"

TB pocketed the ribbon, got up from the chair, and gave it a shove toward the table as he tried to head to the door.

Steel called out, "I'm just trying to figure out when the angle became a thing."

TB had reached the door, his hand on the knob, but he turned back to face the man still sitting, relaxed as could be, at the conference table. "There's no ‘thing.'"

"Call it whatever you want, but there's definitely a ‘thing.' You don't usually sit through meetings completely tuned out to what's going on and contemplate pieces of frilly material."

"I have a lot to do to get ready for tomorrow. Is there a fucking point somewhere here?"

"Between you and Waters this past week since you got home, it's like trying to navigate a minefield."

"My problem is nothing like Waters' problem."

"At least you admit you have a problem," Steel muttered. He continued, "Does your grouchiness have anything to do with the text you just got?"

"No."

"You know, for an expert interrogator, you can't lie for shit. C'mon, seriously. What is going on?"

"Why do you care?"

Steel shrugged. "Do you blame me for not wanting to work in an office full of cranky men? Glad Demon's not here because then it would be all doom and gloom."

"Whatever." He headed through the door. "I have to go."

"Have you learned nothing from the bossman's mistake?" Steel called out again.

"What is it you want?"

"I want to know if you're going to learn from his mistake and fight for what you want?"

"You talking about Flame? The author and her research?"

"That may have been how it started, but that's not how it ended. Or, ended prematurely, should I say. It did not go unnoticed by anyone that you went to the club with her, and then for the past five nights, you've gone alone, and you've not been home in time for your nightly chats with her."

"Fuckin' Midas," TB spat. "Is he following my chats? I'll fuckin' kill him."

"No, TB, he's only checked the connection. He would never look at your communications, no matter how much Nemo begs. You would have known that if you'd been listening in the meeting. He said it out loud, and he was right next to you. You didn't even flinch."

"Look," TB tried to explain, "it became very clear that she's too innocent for this. It's not fair to lead her astray. She's going to get caught up in the whole role exchange, and then I'm going to hurt her. When we get back in town, I'll have Cherry partner with me. Same scenario—a newbie able to ask questions."

"Yeah, that won't look odd at all, you bringing another new girl in." Steel shook his head. "And good luck getting Cherry into that club dressed like a sub. We'll be lucky if he only raises the roof and doesn't burn this building to the ground."

"He who? God? He's sent her undercover before."

Steel mumbled under his breath about the best and brightest being the most oblivious.

TB frowned and shook his head. "No idea who or what you're referring to. Regardless, if in a week I haven't found anything, there probably isn't anything to find. Maybe the club has nothing to do with it directly. Maybe it's just a vulnerable location to hunt. I'll talk to the security team there. One of the dungeon masters is a former Marine."

"Waters says his spidey senses are telling him it's connected to the club, so that means it is ninety-nine percent connected. He just hasn't figured out how he knows it. I think… maybe… just maybe… you got too close to Flame and got burned." Steel stood, stretched, then walked past his friend and headed out the door. "Figure it out, big man, or you're going to end up like Waters."

TB sank down into the chair closest to the door. He sat alone and in silence, contemplating what Steel had said to him.

It wasn't that he didn't like her. He did. Way more than he should.

But no matter which way he looked at it, he couldn't see any sort of a future between him and Flame. His job wouldn't allow it with someone like her. She'd be crying and demanding he stay home and spend time with her within two project stints.

She hasn't complained in the time you've been chatting.

We weren't a couple. We were just researcher and interviewer.

Keep telling yourself that bullshit. Someday, you might convince yourself.

Even if she never complained, it's not fair to her. I am not relationship material. I'm selfish and don't like answering to anyone else. Besides that, I don't want to change the way I live my life for someone else.

Yeah, because living in your sterile apartment upstairs and spending all your time working is such a fantastic life.

Fuck off. To top it off, relationships require compromise. I don"t compromise.

How would you know? You've never tried.

This is a pointless argument. I'm not relationship material.

Again… how would you know? You've never been in one.

Relationships are fine for people like Waters. He still has some humanity left in him. I do not.

Right. Humanity. We've talked about the handsaw, right?

"Ugh."

Okay, Waters did have some dark spots. He had some shady as fuck shit in his past that was part of why he'd been on the verge of a dishonorable discharge before he got his insides rearranged by a member of the Taliban. Stuff that rivaled TB's methods. Despite that darkness, he had started a relationship everyone had been rooting for. He was genuinely in love with that woman. If Waters could do it, who was to say he couldn't?

TB snorted at the stupidity behind that idea. He could play the role of an attentive partner if he had a reason to do so. He could even sustain it for a while if the project needed it. But he couldn't be that person. He'd gotten to know Flame too well, and he couldn't unlearn who she was and later, when it didn't work out, put her in the same category as some stranger that he cultivated in order to get to his mark. It would be cruel to put her in that position. She deserved better.

What could it hurt to try? It would be so easy to put her first.

Nope. You did the right thing. You just went about it the wrong way. Just officially cut the cord, and you'll feel better about it.

Enteringthrough the external door into the marble foyer, TB approached the information desk. Frost, the receptionist, sat behind it, her sleek blonde hair up in a bun so tight, it looked like it was painted on her head. Her tortoise shell framed glasses covered ice-cold blue eyes. "May I help you?"

He leaned on the high countertop. "Mistress Tabitha called me."

Without a flicker of emotion, she keyed in an extension on her phone.

"Mistress Tabitha, Master Lobo is here."

He heard a clicking noise, which meant the hidden door had opened that went to Tabitha's office. He knocked once on the high counter he'd been leaning on and strode over to the wall, where he slipped his hand into the crack that appeared and pulled the door open enough to move into the inner sanctum, shutting the door carefully behind him. On this side, it functioned as a bookcase.

The room he was now closeted in had the appearance of a Victorian library in an English country estate. Leather furniture in deep browns, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, complete with the rolling ladder to reach the uppermost shelves, cut crystal decanters and glasses at the bar trolley, and the soft glow of fake gaslights lit the deep-colored hardwood floor and Oriental rugs. Behind a Victorian desk in a pool of light from a green, shaded lamp sat Mistress Tabitha, owner of The Library.

She stood up from behind the desk and crossed over to the bar trolley. Deep chocolate brown hair that curled slightly beyond her shoulders, dark brown eyes beneath perfectly shaped eyebrows and thick, sooty lashes, and pink, glossy lips over perfectly straight white teeth complimented skin that glowed with a healthy tan. Her body was tightly encased in a black leather corset that had a velvet collar and sleeves attached to it, a keyhole cut out from throat to armpit. Not a speck of cleavage showed, but it didn't have to. The cinching of her waist and the tight fit of the corset gave rise to more than enough imagination, helped by the tailored fit of the black leather skirt that molded to her backside and fell to below her knees, plus her signature heels, with ribbons tied perfectly around the ankles.

He could admire her looks and her business savvy, but she had always reminded him of a cobra. She could be venomous to people who pissed her off. He remembered one particular instance where she'd bordered on cruelty with a female sub, and it had never sat right with him. The pretty candy coating didn't always agree with the inner bitch. They had scened in the beginning, when he had first joined the club, always with her as a submissive, but those days were long gone.

She poured herself a whiskey, then went back behind her desk and sat down, ignoring him.

Nothing like a power play between a Dom and a switch.

"Thanks, I'd love a drink, Tabitha."

"You don't deserve my expensive whiskey," she explained without looking up at him.

He crossed to the drink trolley and poured his own drink, then moved to the bookshelves behind her desk, perusing the titles as he sipped, feeling the burn of the rich liquid as it hit the back of his throat. Her pen continued to scratch over the page on her desk, letting him know she was still not paying attention to him. He let the warmth flood through his veins as he continued to study the book titles. "Why did you drag my ass down here just to give me the silent treatment?" he rumbled.

"I didn't drag your ass anywhere."

"Tabitha—"

She sighed loudly. "Sit down."

Under normal circumstances, he would never follow her orders, but this wasn't exactly normal. In an effort to try and take some of the wind out of her sails, he humored her.

Not the hill you want to die on. Lose one battle to win the war.

Moving to the seating area in front of her desk, he lowered himself into the right-hand leather armchair. He leaned back, his expression blank, as he waited for her to make her move.

Setting her pen down, she picked up the glass of whiskey she had poured herself. She leaned back against the cushions of her high-backed leather desk chair, the arm not holding her drink folded across her middle, and she looked over her glass's edge at him.

She sipped again, watching him closely.

He simply returned her stare.

"It's unlike you to ghost a woman. Put her down harshly, maybe, if she's not getting the message. But that's not what I saw a week ago." She pointed a long, lacquered nail at him. "And don't bullshit me that you were out for work because I saw you on the security cameras. You were here every damn night. So what happened?"

"I wasn't aware that I was under any sort of agreement to talk to her unless I wished to."

She probed, "So you don't want to talk to her? Don't want to see her?"

"That's not any of your business, Tabitha."

"It certainly is, Lobo! I chose you specifically to help her. You were supposed to answer questions, maybe demonstrate some of our activities. I certainly didn't expect you to send her so far into subspace that she took an hour and a half to come down. And based on my conversation with her earlier, no matter what she says, she's developed feelings for you."

Tabitha leaned forward, put her whiskey glass off to the side on her desk, and then folded her arms in front of her on the desktop. She looked at him deeply. "I have to admit, I'm not surprised she was attracted to you. She lives with her head in the clouds, romanticizing everything. But you catching feelings? That was a surprise. I couldn't believe you, of all people, were attracted to her. She's so innocent. Considering our sessions in the past, I wouldn't take you for the vanilla type."

"She's not vanilla. She's definitely submissive. More so than you," he murmured.

She held her glass against her bottom lip, her fingers grasping her glass so tightly, they were white with the pressure. "You need to tell her it's over."

He stood up and crossed over to the bar trolley to put his empty glass on the lower level so it would get washed for the next day. When he turned around, Tabitha was right behind him. He'd been so wrapped up in his own head, he hadn't heard her leave her desk chair.

Her hand stretched out, her eyes following it as it ran down his shoulder to his elbow and continued to his wrist, where she traced the wolf's head on his cuffs. "I'm sorry. She's my friend. I feel responsible for her, as well as the clusterfuck this turned into. You were supposed to be a safe option." Her eyes looked up at his. "I would never hurt you purposefully. What can I do?"

Drawing his arm back from her touch was the best he could do since there was no way to back up with the trolley at his back. "I'm fine, Tabitha."

Her hands went to lay flat on his chest. "You don't look fine. Maybe a session with me and the spanking bench would help? An opportunity to punish me for my bad choice?"

He took both of her hands in his and gave her a nudge to step back so that he could escape his hemmed-in position. "Tabitha, there's nothing to punish you for, and besides that, you know I have no plans to scene with you again."

With that, he strode to the door, clicked the mechanism to open it, passed through, and went home.

He'd doneeverything that needed doing before tomorrow. He'd packed his gear. He'd cleaned his personal weapons.

There was just one thing left to do.

He sat in front of the laptop at the breakfast bar in his apartment, dreading the upcoming conversation. Tabitha was right. Sylvan deserved at least a final conversation, as uncomfortable as it would be. She'd done nothing wrong except be herself.

What was worse was that Steel was also right. She'd definitely burned him. And it had scared the fuck out of him. As he'd held her in his arms while she struggled out of subspace, he'd felt panic rise.

What would she say?

What would she do?

What would she expect?

How could he be anything even close to what this beautiful woman deserved?

The truth was, he couldn't. Pure and simple.

So, he'd made sure he'd provided the initial aftercare she'd needed. Then he left her with Tripoli in the Resting Room, letting Tabitha know where she was.

Then, like a coward, he'd run. Metaphorically, anyway.

So, here he sat in his apartment, at quarter to ten, logged into the private chat where he waited.

Ten o'clock.

Five minutes after ten.

Eight minutes after ten.

Ten minutes after ten.

By ten thirty, he realized how badly he'd screwed up. She wasn't ever coming back. Now, there was no choice for him to make because his actions had made it for him.

Self-sabotage much, idiot?

He decided to leave her a message through email. His heart pounded loud and hard with each word he typed.

Flame -

I owe you an explanation for not showing up for our chats this past week. The truth is, there really isn't one.

I'm going out of the country tomorrow, and I don't know when I'll be back, but I do think it's safe to say that I've given you everything I can give you. I hope it was enough for what you need. Be well, princess.

Lobo

He shut down his computer, locked it in his personal safe, and trudged downstairs to the armory. There was no way he was going to sleep tonight, so he might as well do something useful before they left.

I'll sleep when I'm truly dead.