Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Tracy Judd

I was so freaking excited that I couldn't contain it. It was a good thing Mister Madigan and Master Ryan had semi-jokingly promised to keep an eye on me, because my leash definitely needed to be cut shorter occasionally.

"…but unlike previous Pursuits, we're gonna make a couple changes to this one," Mister Madigan announced. "For one, it's gonna be a Top buffet. Doesn't matter who you're going home with at the end of the night—you can be captured by any Top participating."

Whoa.

Abel and I exchanged a wide-eyed look.

"There will be limits, of course," Mister Dave added. "We'll respect every boundary a dynamic has on pain, intimacy, and safewords. Ryan and I might stumble across Madigan's boy, for instance." He definitely had Abel's attention. "And we'll have negotiated beforehand what we can do with the prey before we deliver him to his Owner."

Oh my God, that was so exciting. Mostly because I wasn't partnered up, and it felt like it would be more exhilarating and liberating to have more than just the few single Tops coming after me.

Mister Madigan took over again. "During the event, we'll use the color system for safewords, but every Top will recognize private safewords in case the bottom forgets the colors in the heat of the moment. Which means it's very important you list those safewords on the form we'll be handing out."

Our drinks arrived as Dave talked about the importance of being 100% truthful on the form, because once we hit the dark woods next Saturday night, the only thing that could save us was the safeword.

This play was not for newbies.

I was technically a newbie, but I'd proven myself over the past several months. Master Ryan, Master Waylon, Angel, and Mister Dave had tested my threshold for pain and fear and cleared me for rougher play.

Let's just say I got off on adrenaline rushes and consensual non-con.

I'd always been fascinated by pain—and drawn to it. Whether I'd practiced kickboxing or rugby, whether I'd burned myself at work or fallen off my bike as a kid. Obviously, there were types of pain I hated, but there was still something about the impact pain had on my mind and body. The range of emotions, from "holy shit, that stings" and "okay, this hurts; am I gonna cry or not?" to "harder, Daddy" and "please mark me."

Playing rugby had been my biggest mistake and aha-moment all at once. 'Cause I, uh…I wasn't big…? So, I'd never made it. Those guys had toppled me over as if I'd weighed nothing. But, man, had it let me discover my inner adrenaline junkie.

I guessed I could thank my father for that realization too. He was from the UK, and after settling down in the South with my mom, he'd sought out every British pub and pastime he could find in the peachy state of Georgia.

There weren't many. And the sports were only for kicks. Try entering a sports bar in Macon and ask them to switch to soccer…

I took a sip of my frozen strawberry margarita and licked my lips.

Super yummy.

They had a great bartender here.

"Okay, moving on!" Mister Madigan said. "The other change we're incorporating is because of you brats. We've seen the chatter on our Discord server. You wanna explore interrogation play? We'll make that happen if you check the right boxes."

Ruh-roh?

"I knew that was gonna come back to bite us in the ass," Abel muttered into his cocktail.

Mister Dave spoke next. "If you're a bottom joining us next Saturday, I want you to fill out this safety form and send it back to Madigan or me by Wednesday. You can take a picture of it and text or email it to us, or if you stop by our work and give it to us in person—you know where Madigan and Jameson have their tattoo shop, and I'm over at Three Dots. Just message me before."

"Abel and I have a few friends visiting us next weekend too, so they'll be joining us," Mister Madigan said.

Abel turned to me, visibly thrilled. "You're gonna love Kit. He's so funny."

I was always game for making new friends!

I'd clearly struck gold with Abel already. He and Mister Madigan had come in for dinner at the steakhouse, and Alessia had introduced us. One thing had led to another… We'd hit it off, and he'd told me about their community.

I'd never been part of one before. I'd explored in college, but honestly, I'd been so focused on my studies that it barely counted.

Now I was much older, twenty-five and a half, and way more settled, so it was time.

A low rush of conversation flowed alongside the music, and Abel and I scooted closer together so we could strategize the way only awesome brats could.

Judging by the talk on Discord, approximately fifteen members would participate next weekend, and that was about half of the community. It was also roughly the same number of people here tonight. Maybe a few more.

I'd mingle later.

Filling out the form with limits and safety procedures came first, and I knew how this worked. They were understandably strict about rules, and to make sure you'd read everything properly, each box was ticked differently. If you marked a box with an X, you had to do it all over again.

A for advanced play.

M for masochist.

P for primal.

Another M for mindfucks.

I for interrogation.

Check, check, check, check…

"R for rough, check!" I called out happily.

A few Doms chuckled nearby.

They didn't mess around with safety, so there were like a million things to check—and/or add personal notes to. The letter N was always no, and I had some of those too.

What I didn't have, sadly, were many prospects in this community. I'd bonded somewhat with two men who were available, Master Waylon and a switchy switch named Cal, but it was mainly platonic. Sometimes the chemistry just wasn't there.

I leaned in so Abel could hear me. "Would you be okay if your Daddy plays with me again? Nonsexually, obviously."

"Of course." He frowned. "But I have a good feeling about you and Mister Griffin."

Ew. No. Not that name. He could be perfect for all I cared, but that name was ruined for me. I'd worked with a Griffin, and I was supposed to work with him again. That was enough.

Moving to Camassia Cove had admittedly been 90% due to Adam Grady. I'd attended the same culinary institute as him in New York, where he still had quite the reputation so many years later. Then, by a random stroke of luck, I'd gotten an internship at one of the restaurants he'd worked at in Atlanta way back, and it'd made me want to meet him. And work for him. Then I'd arrived on the scene, only to find out a second-star chef with an excellent reputation was here. Griffin Lawson.

Mother of Christ, my crush had been overwhelming and instant. Like, weak-in-the-knees hardcore.

Until he'd killed it. Possibly broken my heart a little too.

He was such an asshole. There was no pleasing him. He was all demands and attitude.

I'd gotten a reprieve when he'd left to expand his business in Europe, but now he was supposedly back. Adam had delivered the horrible news yesterday.

I would've left if I hadn't already fallen head over heels in love with this town—and my job. I fucking loved working for Adam and Alessia. Adam was a great mentor, while also giving me space to create my own future. We had our thing; I was his sidekick without living in his shadow.

"I don't know why you look grossed out," Abel commented. "He's a primal Daddy Dom and Sadist. What more do you need to know in order to at least talk to him and see if you hit it off?"

Wait, who? Oh. Mister Griffin? No. Fuck no.

"I need him to change his name," I joked. "Can he do that?"

Abel just looked confused.

I guessed I had to explain. Or remind him, rather. "Didn't I tell you I kinda work with a Griffin who's a total douchebag?"

His forehead wrinkled. "Um, you didn't say anything about a douchebag."

Oh.

Right.

I did tend to be nice. I didn't like talking shit about people—but yesterday's news was making me cranky. Okay? So all the truths were spilling out.

"Well, he is," I stated. "I can't play with a Griffin. Sorry. He's evil by name association."

Abel snorted softly, though his confusion didn't fade one bit. "You talk as if you don't know they're the same person."

What?

It was my turn to be confused.

"What do you mean, the same person?" I questioned.

"Mister Griffin…?" He pressed. "You did mention him once, and I told you he's a Daddy. Remember?"

I scowled and thought back on… Shit, that was months ago! How was I supposed to remember what he'd said? Either way, I must've assumed he meant, like, hot like a Daddy? Like a Daddy type ? 'Cause I said that crap all the time. Adam was a hot Daddy too. So was Mister Madigan, Master Ryan, and freaking George Clooney. In no fucking way had I thought Abel was being serious, as in, Griffin was a Daddy Dom!

Was he?

Holy shit, was he here ?

I pinned my stare to Abel, willing myself not to look any other way, and felt dread creeping up my spine.

"Let me get this straight," I said. "Are you telling me that the Griffin you think I should talk to here tonight is the same Griffin who works at Adam's restaurant?"

He lifted his brows and answered as if it was obvious. "Uh, yeah ? How has that not been fucking clear?"

Oh my God.

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no!

"Because we've barely talked about him!" I whisper-shouted. "He's been gone for a whole year, and all you said—allegedly—was that he's a Daddy, which I clearly interpreted as you calling him hot."

Abel nodded pensively. "You may have a point."

I may? Oh, I fucking may?

Kill me!

I let out a shaky breath as a flurry of nerves shot through me and frazzled every fiber of my body. I couldn't fucking believe it. Not only was I gonna have to work with Griffin again, he was also kinky? That grumpy piece of fuckknuckle who was always so uptight and rude?

I had only one other question, and I picked up my drink and braced myself.

"Is he here tonight?"

Abel made a yikes-face and nodded hesitantly. "He's in the booth behind us with Mister Jameson and Justin."

Fuck my life.

I nodded once in acknowledgment, then chugged my margarita.

In the booth behind ours…meaning, he could probably see me. If not now, then earlier when I'd arrived—except…I had spotted both Mister Jameson and Justin, so Griffin had to be across from them. Chances were he'd seen me.

I hissed and set down my glass, then promptly rubbed my forehead.

Abel winced and put a hand on my shoulder. "Brain freeze?"

I nodded. It hurt! My eyes became glassy, and the pain welled up in waves inside my head until it slowly faded.

"I'm really sorry, Tracy. I should've communicated better about Mister Griffin."

I shook my head, having calmed down some. "It's not your fault. Hell, he would've been perfect if he weren't such a tool. I had the biggest crush on him when we first met. Then he opened his mouth, and here we are."

He let out a surprised snicker, then made a face and shook his head too. "It's strange to hear. He's been so nice to me—and he's close with Daddy."

"Yeah, I already figured I was the problem," I muttered. It still stung—I couldn't deny that. "He's close to Adam and Alessia too."

"Well…could there be some misunderstanding?" he asked curiously.

No way. "I've been nothing but nice to him—at least the first few months. After that, I asked if I'd done or said something to offend him, and he brushed me off. So I got snarky and didn't take his shit, but I never initiated any trouble."

Abel hummed, thinking cap clearly on, and sipped his drink.

I blew out a breath, considering my next move. In a small community like this one, it was impossible to steer clear of a specific person. Even more so if we had kinks in common—and that was a mindfuck. He was a primal Daddy Dom? Really?

Just my damn luck.

Glancing toward Mister Madigan and Mister Dave, I guesstimated I had about five minutes before they wanted to discuss more event plans. For now, they were drinking beer and chatting with a couple other Doms.

A time frame was good to have. Could I knock out a quick talk with Griffin in five or so minutes? We just needed to reach an agreement to coexist without making each other miserable.

We'd have to do the same at work anyway.

"Wish me luck." I finished my margarita in two swallows, then wiped my mouth. "I'm gonna see if Griffin and I can sign a peace treaty."

Abel looked pleasantly surprised. "Okay, I'm rooting for you! That's great."

Yeah, we'd see.

I slid out of the booth and turned around, and then my breath got caught in my throat. Fuck. Fuck, fuck. He was watching me. Unreadable expression, jaw set. He wasn't happy ; I knew that much. I bet he hadn't expected to see me here tonight.

Right back at you, buddy.

Man, it infuriated me that he was so devastatingly hot. All rugged, easily six foot four, devil-may-care…but I'd seen kindness in his green eyes too. He had a soft spot for Alessia and her and Adam's son.

Why couldn't he like me ?

I swallowed a burst of anxiousness that tightened a noose around my neck, and I forced my legs to function. I had to get this over with.

Breathe.

I tried.

My walk toward doom was too short. Before I knew it, I was in front of their table, and Justin and his Owner fell silent and glanced up at me.

I cleared my throat and forced myself to make eye contact with Griffin. "Can we talk outside?"

He took a swig of his beer, which lasted about four seconds but felt like an eternity, before he nodded with a dip of his chin and set down his bottle.

At least he didn't outright tell me to fuck off. That was something, right?

He took the lead, and I followed him out of the bar and onto the sidewalk.

The town had already milked the last of the heat out of summer, and now it was cold the moment the sun set. I folded my arms over my chest, regretting I hadn't brought my jacket.

"So I bet this was a nasty surprise for you," I said.

He hitched his brows a fraction and stuck his hands down the pockets of his jeans. "It wasn't pleasant."

Yeah. Thanks.

I clenched my jaw and averted my gaze for a beat. "Right. But can we find a way to make this work like we've done at the restaurant?" I glanced at him again. "I'm finally making friends out here, and it's a good community. I don't wanna walk away from that just because you can't stand to be in the same room as me. For reasons you refuse to divulge, by the way."

His brow furrowed at that. "First things first. Are you into kink?"

I shrugged and chewed on the corner of my lip. "I guess."

"You guess?"

I shot him a scowl. What was this, twenty fucking questions? Why did he care?

"Fine—yeah, I am," I said. "I'm not into high-protocol or too many rules, but I love primal play and CNC, and I identify as a Little."

Tension ticked in his jaw, and he looked down and retrieved his smokes.

In the year I'd worked alongside him—slash for him—I'd come to learn he only smoked when he was stressed out. I'd heard stories too, from Adam. Stress was a big part of being a chef, but believe it or not, Griffin worked at Coho to relax. He didn't let much get him worked up around there. The launch of a seasonal menu or the occasional asshole customer sent him outside for a cigarette. Maybe I'd been responsible for one or two as well.

My de-stress drug these days was taking a run.

Griffin lit it up and took a drag, and he glanced down the cobblestone street for a beat.

He looked to be fighting some internal war, and I just couldn't understand why this was so difficult.

What the hell had I done?

"Can you please tell me what's wrong with me?" I blurted out, with instant regret. Fuck. Way to make myself vulnerable to a man who could barely look me in the eye. I swallowed as he locked eyes with me, and now I had to go on. I couldn't leave it there. "I must've said something at some point," I continued. "Or acted in some way—for you to hate me so much."

His jaw ticked again, and the corners of his eyes tightened. "I don't hate you, Tracy."

If this wasn't hate, I didn't wanna stand in the line of fire when he actually did hate someone.

It was fucking hurtful.

He exhaled smoke and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm trying to come up with a way to say as little as possible, but if you think I hate you, I gotta explain myself."

And he didn't want that.

"Or you can just agree to a peace treaty," I offered. If he didn't wanna talk to me, so be it. As long as we could coexist. "Whether you hate me or just dislike me is irrelevant?—"

"It's not." He shook his head and flicked away some ashes. "It's not irrelevant. Contrary to what you might think, I'm not a coldhearted asshole."

Uh.

Was he sure about that?

He sighed. "Tracy, you joined us at Coho when I was in the middle of fighting for a dying relationship."

I stood straighter automatically, having only heard some bits and pieces about this. Alessia had told me about an ex named Charlie. She hadn't been surprised one bit when they'd broken up.

Griffin let out a hollow chuckle and shook his head. "You know, when I saw you in there earlier, I wanted to tell you to fuck off and leave me alone. Instead, I'm standing here like a fucking idiot, telling you the reason you've pissed me off is because you've acted in a way my ex always told me he wanted to be. But he never was—and I don't know why he lied about it."

I…what?

"Acted what way?" I had to know.

He cleared his throat. "Act is the wrong word. How you are . Your love for small towns, your passions, your opinions… Whatever." He made a face and averted his gaze again. "When he and I got together, he sang a different tune. He wanted to live here, he wanted to be more carefree, he wanted me to teach him to fish, he…" He waved it off. "Doesn't matter. It was all bullshit."

Okay, so…

I scratched the side of my head, and I had to look around us. Was I being pranked?

"I observed you at work," he went on quietly. I snapped my gaze to his, like a rubber band refusing to stretch farther. His stare was still unreadable, but it was intense as fuck. "You pissed me off because you made me lose my energy to fight for him."

Whoa.

"Uh—"

"No, not like that," he cut in. "I wasn't supposed to fight for him, but I can be stubborn. And seeing you running around at Coho, all playful and getting along swimmingly with everyone—it made me bitter, all right? Because you were everything he claimed he wanted to be, and it made me realize…I don't know. But whatever we had was never as real as I'd once hoped it would be."

I swallowed hard. It felt like I'd just been slapped, but not in a bad way. I shuddered at a cold wind and stared at him. Was he saying that he'd wanted someone…like…me?

He took a final drag and then put the smoke out under his boot. "There you have it. I don't hate you—and we can work together and share the community. But if you don't mind, I'll keep my distance." He put the butt back in the pack. "I won't get in your way, and you won't get in mine. Deal?"

Allow me to repeat: "Uh."

"I'll take that as a yes," he replied firmly. It was clear that he was looking for an exit. Maybe he felt too exposed, and who could blame him? I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.

Was he shitting me?

Griffin didn't say anything else. He just went back inside.

But, but, but, but!

What the fuck?!