He’d rely on their friends and Brita’s family.
The only “good” thing was that he was technically on administrative desk duty while IA went over the details of the shooting and sorted out which bullets had struck and killed the subject. Not just him, but two of the unis who’d responded and returned fire with him after Brita was clear of the doorway with the little boy. It’d only take a couple of weeks to be cleared for active duty again once the investigation was completed.
His supervisor had told him to spend his “desk duty” time with Brita.
Ethan rarely went home, except to shower.
I’m going to marry her. One of these days, I will marry her. No matter how long it takes.
Brita had emotional issues that pre-dated their relationship by well over a decade. An abusive relationship with a controlling asshole in high school, her escape from him being for her to join the Army right after graduation. Not that much of a stretch, since her father had been Air Force. She’d claimed at the time it was so she could get the college benefits. As far as he knew, she’d never revealed the extent of the abuse she’d suffered at the guy’s hands to anyone in her family.
When Ethan and Brita had stumbled into whatever this was that they had almost four years earlier, Ethan had known she was the one. He also recognized she needed space and patience, and he had no problems giving that to her. They understood each other, understood the demands of their jobs. They were exclusive without labeling it, per her request.
He was good with all of that, even if he did consider himself a Dom.
She was more than the sum of any kinky fantasies he’d ever had. He didn’t need for her to be “submissive” to him, or “a submissive.” He simply wanted her to be herself, to be happy.
He loved to make her smile, so that’s what he tried to spend most of their alone time together doing.
Now, however, she was going to have to rely on others. If she didn’t want to be in a rehab facility after her discharge, she would finally have to ditch the stubbornness and accept help from her friends and family. From him. She’d barely be able to take care of herself at first, much less chores around her condo. She’d need to be driven to physical therapy and doctor appointments.
In bed, she loved it when he took control, but he knew exactly where that line lay for her. Something else he was fine with. He didn’t need to control her. He enjoyed the control she let him have, when she let him have it. Far more now than in the early days, but slow baby steps he loved her for.
Trusting him.
A nurse entered the room with a syringe of meds for the pump. He’d met her earlier when she came on shift that morning, but this was her first day caring for Brita.
“Have you eaten today?” she asked him.
The staff had been great, too, practically mothering him. “Yeah. Someone brought me breakfast a little while ago.”
She nodded as she unlocked the pump and swapped the empty syringe for the full one, closed and locked it, and reprogrammed it.
“They’ve reduced her dosage because they want her to wake up a little more,” she said. “Don’t hesitate to ring for me if she’s uncomfortable. They don’t want to transfer her to a regular room yet until she’s more awake and responsive and they can better evaluate her.”
“Thanks.”
“Is she your partner?”
“In a manner of speaking. We’re…involved. Committed.”
Even if Brita was in a drug-induced haze, he wouldn’t disrespect her by using labels she didn’t want. Sure, it’d be easy to say yeah, she’s my girlfriend.
Loving someone meant loving all of them, the way they were at that moment in time. And he loved Brita.
“I’m sorry. This must be particularly hard on you. My husband’s a corrections deputy, so I get it. Were you there when it happened?”
“We were at lunch when we got the call, in my car. I had my vest with me, and she didn’t. But she saw a chance to coax the little boy out and grab him and took it.” He stroked Brita’s right hand. “Not that a vest would have helped where she got shot, but it might have cushioned her fall when she landed and lessened some of her injuries.”
She was, in fact, damn lucky she hadn’t landed on the wall at a different angle. Otherwise, it could have easily snapped her spine.
Ethan knew all she’d care about was that she’d saved the little boy, who was now in protective custody with a foster family because his mother had several outstanding warrants for drug charges, and had been high as a kite.
Preliminary reports suggested that the couple had purchased a bad batch of heroin, cut with something toxic, and it had triggered the violent reaction in the man. She’d taken a hit off a different packet, which either had less of the unknown substance, or hadn’t been cut with it.
The man hadn’t even been the boy’s father. The mother didn’t know who his father was, and had only been living with this guy for a few weeks.
The nurse’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thanks. I’m okay. Thanks for letting me stay with her.”
“We have…latitude.” She smiled. “Our unit supervisor is married to a retired deputy.” She dropped him a wink and started to head out when the TV caught her attention. “Oh, that guy. I used to love watching his videos, until he started getting edgier and meaner for ratings.”
Ethan shifted his focus from Brita to the TV. It’d been tuned to one of the morning network news shows. They were running the latest video from notorious Internet and YouTube star, PwnerInChief, a prankster who frequently caught fire for his outlandish stunts. In this one, he was charging at people with what Ethan hoped was a fake knife in his hand, and he was sprayed head to toe in silver paint like he was a statue, taking people by surprise after they’d innocently approached to get a better look.
He had a film crew who worked with him, and now he was being sued by one of the victims of this particular prank, because she tripped and fell and broke her arm while trying to run from him.
“…and PwnerInChief, whose real name is Jack Stankliskwi, has declined to speak about this incident. Attorneys for Mr. Stankliskwi and his production company released a statement regretting that someone was injured, but pointing out that the ground was slick with ice, and that she could just as easily have slipped walking…”
“He’s going to get himself or someone else killed if he’s not careful,” Ethan muttered. He hated prank shit like that. “Someone innocent’s already been hurt. It’s only a matter of time before he scares the wrong person and gets himself or one of his crew shot.”
“I liked it a lot better when he stuck to the simple things, like minor scares in malls and stuff. Those were funny.” She sadly shook her head. “Guess he wasn’t getting the ratings he wanted and felt he needed to increase his game. They even started having to blur most people’s faces in the pranks because they refused to sign the release waivers after the reveal. I’m surprised he hasn’t been sued before now. Why do people do stuff like that?”
“It’s all about money. Views equal ad revenue. They don’t stop to think about the ramifications. He’s pandering to the lowest common denominator now. Just like drug dealers.” He returned his focus to Brita. “And I have zero patience for anyone like that.”
Once Ethan was alone again with Brita, he lowered the guard rail on her right side and rested his head on the mattress near her face. He laced his fingers through hers. He’d give anything for her to open her sweet brown eyes and look at him. Her long black hair, which she dyed that color from its natural dark brown due to the unusual blonde patch she had on the right side of her head, lay limp. Normally she pulled it back into a ponytail or a bun for work.
Alone together she’d let it loose and he loved running his fingers through it.
“I’m here for you, baby. Never forget that. As long as you need me, and however you need me, I’m yours.”
Chapter Two
Now
Brita
Delgado stared at the scene playing out before her. She was still irritated at Ethan for making her leave her sidearm at his place. It wasn’t like they were going to be playing here tonight, necessitating securing hers in the gun safe in the trunk of Ethan’s car.
Rat bastard.
Thought with all love and respect, of course. Not that she’d say it out loud to him.
Not yet, anyway, although she had before.
Ethan knew more of the people at the St. Patrick’s Day party than she did, so she kept her mouth shut and observed. It wasn’t a large enough crowd to trigger her PTSD, but she had felt somewhat apprehensive tonight.
For a variety of reasons, not just because of her PTSD.
Going on over eight years now they’d known each other, the last seven of them spent being exclusive with each other, even though Brita had resisted labeling their relationship. They’d spent the last couple of years amping up what had been her enjoying Ethan taking control in bed into something more, loosely bouncing around in a quasi-BDSM dynamic with Ethan on Top and her…not.
Him helping shut her noisy brain off so she could sleep without drugging herself into a daze.
Maybe officially labeling it would happen one day, but for now she was results-driven.
The past four years of forced retirement had not been easy on her. At all. Especially when she was only forty-two now, and Ethan was only a few months younger than her. But the extent of her injuries had meant full disability and official retirement from the sheriff’s office. She was a licensed firearms instructor, and had her federal firearms license. She worked part-time out of a local gun shop with its own indoor range, run by a friend of hers, a retired Sarasota deputy who’d reached out to her after her injury. That brought in extra money and got her out of the house a day or two a week.
Being at the range also allowed her a chance to shut her brain down in other ways, when Ethan was at work and unavailable to help her out.
She’d taken up skeet shooting, driving all the way to Brooksville several times a month to work with a highly recommended instructor there, a snarky, funny woman who made the sport look damned easy. Brita could just as easily have gone south to nearby Knight’s Trail and shot there, or even north to Silver Dollar in Tampa, which was an hour closer. But Brita’s first meeting with Sachi had the two of them getting along like a house on fire.
Brita didn’t mind the drive. It was worth it to have someone who got her, even though Sachi had no law enforcement background. She was someone who’d understand if Brita suddenly had to stop in the middle of a round and take a couple of minutes to breathe. Wouldn’t ask her uncomfortable questions about it, or make Brita wonder if Sachi was silently passing judgment on her for needing to do it.
A woman who’d been through her own public crucible and survived.
And the drive was another way for Brita to help shut down her mind for limited time periods.
Their friends Bill and Gabe, both active law enforcement, he a Charlotte County detective and her an FDLE special agent, were currently playing. A few minutes ago, Cali and Max had stopped to chat with Ethan and Brita and fill them in on the latest news about Kel and Mal, and the sad news about Mal’s miscarriage.
At that point, Brita had…tuned out, lost in her thoughts. Neither she nor Ethan had or wanted biological kids. Another way in which they were simpatico. Ethan was still close to his step-son from his previous marriage. Brita doted on her eight-year-old niece, Jordan.
Over in the corner of the living room Bill had staked out for himself and Gabe, he was now tying her with rope. Eventually, once he had her trussed the way he wanted, he’d put her through a forced orgasm scene.
That was something she and Ethan did alone at home, only with handcuffs.
Easy to use, and they both owned several pairs of them.
Sometimes, Ethan used bare-handed spanking on her, in addition to driving her into a sexual frenzy. Brita didn’t mind that at all, either. He never went too far, and there was something about the play that pulled her mind off daily troubles and into that sweet, fuzzy world where she could let go and kick her brain to the curb for a while.
As Brita pulled her attention back onto Ethan, she realized he was now chatting with Scrye and June.
Another woman who understood crucibles, from her sister’s murder, to having to shoot and kill a man to save herself and a friend of hers from his knife attack less than a couple of years earlier.
Made Brita feel slightly bad she hadn’t been paying closer attention the past couple of minutes. June and Scrye were good people, and fun to watch in action. Ethan had expressed an interest in learning rope, but Brita wasn’t nearly as flexible as June.
Especially with her injuries. Still, she was open to exploring it with him because she was curious if she could do it. Not like Ethan was pressuring her.
He never pressured her. Ever.
One of the many things she loved about him, and one of the reasons she trusted him.
Most guys would have given her up as a lost cause by now, even before she’d been injured.
Not Ethan. If anything, he was fiercely determined to show her how he felt.
Lately, she’d been thinking more and more about bringing up the subject of selling her condo and moving into his house with him. He’d left it an open-ended invitation when she’d first been injured and had to live with him for a couple of months until she healed enough to be independent again.
It hadn’t been an unpleasant time—beyond the reason she was there—and she’d loved him even more when he hadn’t fought her moving back to her condo.
At the time, she’d needed to prove to herself she could be independent again.
Now, they spent an average of four or five nights together a week, at her place or his. They each had as many clothes and other items at the other’s place as they did at their own, and had keys and alarm codes for each other’s homes.
Four years post-injury, Brita knew she was physically as whole again as she ever would be. She’d proven to herself she could survive on her own in the wake of her debilitating back injury. Despite daily pain, PTSD, and anxiety, she was a fully functioning human being.
Mostly.
She also suspected she was close to ready to talking to Ethan about wanting to move another step forward in their relationship.
Now why can’t I make myself admit it to him?
Part of her still worried about outing him with the BDSM stuff, but she’d finally come to an uneasy peace about that. Just like he’d allowed her to handle her physical recovery in her way and at her pace, trusting she knew what she needed, she realized she’d have to trust him.
And she did.
Fully.
Well, her brain did. Anxiety and PTSD sometimes overruled her brain, no matter how irrational and illogical she knew it was.
She’d been relatively lucky during her stint in the military. While she’d been in-country in Afghanistan, she’d worked in communications and hadn’t been sent out on missions. There had been a couple of attacks on their base toward the end of her tour, but because of her training, and their location, she’d felt the start of PTSD trying to worm its way under her skin, returning, a familiar sensation left over from her time spent with her abusive ex from high school, Luke.
With a mother who was a psychologist, at least she’d had someone to bounce things off of besides the medics there. By the time she had returned home and was discharged, Brita thought she’d had things under control.
She’d made it through college and law enforcement training and worked her way up from uniformed deputy to detective.
That one afternoon on the stoop in front of a rundown apartment building in Sarasota had undone all the hard work she’d put into herself. All her progress.
And she despised that weakness in herself, even if she was the only one who saw it as such.
Logic was irrelevant when her thoughts got twisted around by her anxiety.
As she stood next to Ethan, he
r five-seven frame comfortably nestled against his six-two and his arm draped around her shoulders, she tried to focus on relaxing. After her injuries, she’d focused first on her physical rehab, then started once again chipping away at the mental part. She wanted to get comfortable being in crowds again. Trying to enjoy herself and not “see” them as target-rich environments, with her brain wanting to race ahead of her by twenty or thirty steps to anticipate anything bad that might happen.
She could have put her foot down and told Ethan she wasn’t leaving her sidearm at home.
But she trusted him.
If Ethan felt this was a safe environment—and of course logic and her brain concurred—Brita knew she needed to coax her anxiety into trusting him, if nothing else. He’d never let her down.
Ever.
* * * *
Ethan had kept a close eye on Brita from the moment of their arrival at the party. As with everything, baby steps were key.
Especially when dealing with Brita.
He hoped the more comfortable she grew with this group of people that she’d eventually come to call some of them friends. She had damned few friends, even if she’d hotly deny that. Acquaintances? Sure. Former colleagues? Absolutely.
No one she trusted on a deeper level, save her family, and him.
It wasn’t even that he wanted her to get to the point they could readily play at a party. He didn’t care about that. He cared more about her being able to let her defenses down and relax.
If he could manage to find a group of people who could help her do that, it’d be a huge win.