Rebel Obsession (36 page)

“You know why.”

What the fuck? Where was Trace going with this shit? “If you’re worried about Sam, I’ve already told you. She’s fine with it.”

“Yeah, well maybe I’m not.” Trace’s gaze snapped to Micah’s, fire lighting in his eyes.

“Why not?”

Trace scowled and looked down before meeting Micah’s gaze again. “Because I’m fucked up, Micah! The shit I need to keep my power in check is fucked up, kinked-out-the-ass shit. What I need is—”

“Is me,” Micah said, cutting him off. “You need
me.
”

The two stared at each other, the weight of this new element of their friendship sinking in. But there was more. Micah could see it in the pained expression that fell over Trace’s face and in the way he averted his gaze.

“What? What else is there, Trace?” Micah grabbed Trace’s shoulder and forced him to look at him. “Because I know it’s not all about your fucked up needs, because you know by now I’ve seen it all. Hell, I’ve
done
it all.” In that respect, Micah knew this wasn’t about the kinky way Trace needed to be worked. There was something else going on here.

Trace shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Fuck you. I can tell there’s something else, so what is it?”

But Trace only looked away, scowling, setting his jaw and sealing his lips.

“Damn you, Trace!”

Trace spun around, guilt shrouding his features under his anger. “Because I’m attracted to her, godammit! Fuck!” He slammed his head back against the wall, refusing to look at Micah. “Fuck.”

Micah’s brow knit together as confusion and shock fused and threw him into a spin. “Sam?”

“Yeah. Sam. Now do you get it? Do you understand now why I can’t….” He trailed off.

“No, I don’t understand.” Simply being attracted to Sam didn’t explain why Trace didn’t want Micah becoming his master. “Maybe you need to explain it to me, Trace.” He sat back and crossed his arms, glaring at him.

“I’m attracted to her.” Trace lifted his hands and looked at him as if to ask what more was there? When Micah only stared back, Trace shook his head and sighed. “She’s your mate. What if I can’t stop myself? What if I touch her the wrong way? What if…?” He sighed, trailing off.

“So what if you do?” Trace and Sam had touched before during the playtime the three of them shared. Mostly, it was Sam touching him, but—and this was the freaky-odd part since Sam was his mate, and mated males usually didn’t take kindly to another male fondling what belonged to them—Micah liked it. Seeing Trace and Sam together turned him on, even as innocent as their contact was. What would happen if Trace reciprocated and got more physical with Sam? Would Micah get even more turned on, or would it throw off the balance and send him into a mated male rage? He actually wanted to know the answer to that question. It would be worth the risk if the reward was deeper intimacy with Sam, as well as a more hardcore relationship with Trace.

But Trace wasn’t seeing it that way. “You’d kill me, Micah. I’m not going to fuck up our friendship like that. No fucking way. Not after what it took for me to get in with you.”

“You don’t know that it would fuck things up. And you know it turns me on to see the two of you together.” Micah wasn’t sure what he was feeling. This had come out of nowhere and would take some time to fully sink in.

“What about her?” Trace looked at him. “Does she like it?” Was that hope in his voice?

Micah narrowed his eyes on Trace. “Yes, actually, she does.”

“I don’t want her to think I’m a freak.”

“Funny, but she’s worried you’ll think
she’s
a freak.”

Trace frowned. “Why?”

“Because she gets so turned on by what the three of us do together.”

“She does?”

“You should know by now that she does.” Micah felt like he was talking to a kid who had a crush on a girl he hoped liked him back. He wasn’t completely sure how he felt about that, being that the girl was Sam. Only time and experimentation would answer that question. Micah shifted and sat back against the wall.

Trace got quiet, and the two didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes.

“Sam’s not the only one in this arrangement I’m attracted to,” Trace said quietly.

So the truth finally comes out.

Micah glanced over at him. “Oh yeah?” He had been with a male before. Back in the days after Kat’s death he had been a depraved bastard, taking opportunity where he could find it. If that meant fucking a male, then that’s what he did. And then last year he had partially mated Jackson. That relationship had ended badly, but Micah and Jackson had been a couple for a long time. He didn’t see Trace the same way he had seen Jackson, but the idea that Traceon was attracted to him didn’t upset him. In fact, it was something he could use if he was, in fact, going to be Trace’s master. “Nothing wrong with that, Trace.”

“You’re okay with that?” Trace looked surprised.

Micah shrugged. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Trace’s attraction toward Sam, but he was more than okay with Trace being attracted to him. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“What if I got carried away with you? What if—”

Micah held up his hand. “Enough with the what-ifs, Trace?” His brow furrowed. “Are you worried about frisking me in a scene? Is that it?”

Trace eyed him and shrugged.

“And you really think I’d let you?” Micah smirked. “I can assure you, Trace, when I’m running a scene, the sub does only what I want him or her to do. Nothing more. If you tried anything with me and I didn’t allow it, I would make damn sure you paid.”

Trace’s eyes narrowed and his lips pursed ever-so-slightly, obviously getting a nice visual of exactly what he meant by making him pay.

For several seconds, they sat in silence, coming to terms with how things were changing between them. A lot had been revealed, and Micah had yet to assimilate all of it, but he knew without a doubt that he wanted to be Trace’s master. He was done sharing him with Mistress Diamond.

“So, I’m your master now, Trace.” Not a question. Decision made. Right now, this moment, Trace became his. Trace needed to accept that.

“As long as you know what you’re getting into with me.” Trace’s words came out tough, but Micah knew he was about to bust from the anticipation that Micah would be his one and only master from now on. It didn’t take reading Trace’s mind to know that he had wanted this all along.

“Oh, it’s knowing what I’m getting into with you that is precisely why I
want
the job, Trace.” He would have to work through his emotions over how Sam fit into all this, but he had wanted to fill this role with Trace for two months. He wasn’t going to back down because of something that could end up being a non-issue.

“Fine.” Trace looked down at his hands, which had curled into fists as if on their own. Clearly, he was working hard to keep his enthusiasm contained.

Good thing, too. Micah wasn’t down with Trace going all mushy and sentimental.

“From now on, when you need service, no matter the time of day or night, you see me.” Micah leaned back and gazed up at the ceiling as if the discussion was over. “I’ll take care of letting Diamond know.”

Trace nodded, his head still bowed in subservient submission. The power transfer was complete. One master, one servant. Just like that, the dynamic came to fruition. At last.

Micah leaned back. “When we get out of here—”

The door opened, cutting Micah off, and Tristan walked in.

“You should be in containment, too,” Micah said without missing a beat.

“I know, I know, Micah. Just drop it.” Tristan held up his hand to quiet him.

“Yeah, well….” Micah looked back toward Trace. “This is fucked up.”

“I said to drop it.”

Little shit.
He and Tristan would have to “discuss” this matter privately after the dust settled on the proceedings. A fist-to-fist, bloody kind of conversation. He didn’t give a shit what kind of problems Tristan had at home.

Two guards stepped in behind Tristan.

“What’s this?” Trace looked from the guards to Tristan.

Tristan sat down and combed his hand through his blond hair. “It’s time to face the king, but I want to give you an update first. Io’s been arrested by the king’s guards. He’s to be executed within the hour.”

“What?” Micah shot forward, jumping to his feet. “Why? For taking a goddamn mate?”

“Who just so happens to be the king’s daughter.” Tristan jumped up with him, lifting his hands to hold Micah back.

“As if he can control something like that,” Micah shot back.

“Hey, I’m just telling you what’s going down.” Tristan paced away, looking frustrated. “I don’t like it, either, Micah. This is more fucked up than a Hollywood whore, but there’s nothing I can do.”

“Like hell!”

Tristan spun back and nailed Micah with a hand to the throat. “We’ve got our own problems to worry about!”

Trace jumped up, his eyes flaring wide and his right hand twitching.

Ah hell, Tristan had done it now. If he wasn’t more careful, Trace would be walking into court to be tried for murder in addition to his other charges. And that would wreck Micah’s week even more than it already was. He was really looking forward to that conversation with Tristan and would hate to see Trace kill the guy before he could have some fun.

“Get the fuck off me.” He sounded like the business end of a gun about to go off. “Before I give Trace the go-ahead to rearrange your organs.”

Tristan pulled back with an apologetic jerk of his head, his mouth set in a hard line and a frown creasing his brow. “I’m sorry. I’m just…fuck, but I feel so goddamn helpless.”

“Well, at least you’re not locked in a cell.” Micah straightened his shirt. He didn’t care how bad Tristan felt. It wasn’t fair that he was free and Trace was locked up.

“Fuck you, Micah. Just fuck you, all right. I fucking wish I was locked up, because then I wouldn’t have to be out there,” he flung his arm toward the door, “listening to everything being said and knowing I can’t do a goddamn thing to stop it.”

Nothing was said for a moment.

Tristan spoke first. “Just so you know, I’ll be on house arrest for a month for my part in this, and Severin is being suspended without pay for a week. I don’t know who’ll be in charge while I’m gone, probably Stryker.”

Micah didn’t care. Right now, he wasn’t feeling anything but irritation for Tristan, who jacked his fists up on his hips and huffed, looking down.

“Fine. Let’s go,” Micah said, gesturing toward Trace to join him. “After you,” he said to Tristan, eyeing the guards before looking back at Trace.

An unspoken promise passed between them. Micah wouldn’t abandon Trace. Not now. Not ever. They would work through the rest after this ordeal was over.

Trace nodded subtly then turned to follow Tristan out of the room. Micah grabbed his arm.

Trace stopped and looked over his shoulder.

He wrapped his free arm around Trace’s head, pulling his face down against his shoulder. “I’ve got you, buddy. You hear me? I’ve got
you
this time. Just as you’ve had my back so many times, now I’ve got yours.”

Trace hesitated for a heartbeat then wrapped one arm around Micah and held on like his life depended on it. “I hear you.” He spoke quietly into Micah’s shoulder.

Neither of them moved for a couple of seconds, and then the threat to their man cards urged them to separate and clear their throats.

Micah gestured toward the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

Trace took a deep breath and led Micah out of the room, where they joined Tristan and another set of guards in the hall.

Time to face the music.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

As soon as Miriam reappeared downtown in the shadows of an alley she used when she traveled by mist, she shoved her hand into her purse and dug until she found her phone. With fingers that trembled so violently she could barely open her contact list, it took her six attempts and several bursts of colorful language to dial her dealer.

She wasn’t supposed to be doing this. Somehow, calling her dealer was supposed to be wrong, but how could something that felt so right on the surface be wrong? The vague notion that someone important to her didn’t want her using cobalt anymore raced just outside her mind’s periphery. Like the sounds of birds singing or cars driving on a far-off freeway, the idea buzzed in the background like white noise, easy to disregard with the roar of addiction and withdrawal screaming in her ear and slapping her face. More like full-on, fist-to-the-nose action.

She swore under her breath as she walked briskly out of the alley with the phone to her ear and her other arm wrapped around her torso as if she were cold. Keeping her head down and her feet moving, her teeth chattered as she listened to the electric buzz of ringing on the other end.

“Yes?” A male answered.

Miriam thanked the gods of extracurricular drug use at the sound of his voice.

“It’s C…Candy.” She gave her fake name.

There was a short pause and then the dreck on the other end said, “Hi, Candy. But we both know your name isn’t Candy, don’t we?”

“But….” How did they know she was lying? Well, duh. After recent events, her real identity shouldn’t have been a secret to anyone anymore.

“Don’t worry,” the male’s voice said. “I just want to make this easier for you. With a high profile like yours, we want to keep you safe. You want to be safe, don’t you…Candy?”

How nice to find someone who understood. All she wanted was to be safe. Her father didn’t understand that, but this nice male on the phone—Mr. Candyman—she almost laughed at the name—he understood. He would give her what she needed. “Yes. Okay, y…yes.”

“You need product, Candy?”

“Y…yes.” She darted in and out of pedestrian traffic as she hurried along the sidewalk.

There was a pause, followed by a rustling noise. “I’ve got someone at the Hotel Burnham on Washington. It’s safe. I promise. No one will see you there…Candy. Are you close to the Burnham?”

Miriam looked around as she approached an intersection. She was less than five miles from the Burnham. Running part of the way and dematerializing from shadow to shadow, she could get there fairly quickly. “Yes. I c…can be there in less than a half-hour.”