After getting the location, Anne frowned down at her phone. Dammit, Jane. Why’d you go back to that asshole?
A big hand closed over hers. “Problem?” Ben studied her, eyes concerned.
“I’m afraid so. I need to give someone a ride.” But both her brothers were working today, and she didn’t have any trained female friends she’d feel comfortable risking in a possibly dangerous situation.
“Just a ride wouldn’t make you so worried. Can I help?”
“I…” Could he? He was ex-military. And Z did extensive background checks on anyone setting foot in his Shadowlands, so he’d be safe. Even better, as a guard in a BDSM club, he’d have seen and dealt with emotional meltdowns. “If you don’t mind leaving now, I’d love some help.”
“If Bronx can come too, I’m in.”
* * * *
Anne was delivering a woman to a battered women’s shelter? The woman had more facets than a diamond. Ben stared at her as she drove her Ford Escape to the designated pickup area. “Why aren’t the cops providing transportation for the woman?”
“They do sometimes. But all too often, a woman won’t call the police, so the shelter calls in volunteers.”
“If a man has hit his wife, what keeps him from attacking a driver?”
She smiled. “It’s not as dangerous as it sounds. We don’t meet women at their work or houses, and we only do pickups from public areas.”
Still didn’t sound particularly safe. Ben sat back. At least he was here. “Do you know who we’re fetching?”
“Actually, I do. Jane and her daughter, Paige, stayed at the shelter for a while, but when her husband agreed to counseling, she went back to him.” She scowled.
“You don’t approve of a guy getting a second chance?”
“Well, sometimes an abuser is shocked at his actions and realizes he’s got a problem. He’s the type that can learn.” Her lips tightened. “I met Jane’s husband. He’s a manipulative bastard and sure not interested in amending his behavior. He used every trick in the book to get her to return to him.”
Considering Anne’s experience as a Domme, she had probably read him correctly. He sounded like a real bastard. “So she loved him and went back.”
“Uh-uh. I think the love is long gone. I’d say she was afraid of being on her own and of having to turn her life upside-down. Of how much she’d have to change.” Anne’s fingers clenched and loosened on the steering wheel.
She’d spat that word out—change—as if it had a foul taste. Interesting.
“This is the place.” Anne drove through a mall parking lot, pulled over to the curb in front of a department store, and turned the parking lights on. She jumped out.
Ben hand-signaled Bronx to stay put and joined her on the sidewalk. “Where do you want me?”
“Can you wait by the car?” Her lips curved. “You can be a scary lad at times.”
Ben winced. Although he’d come to enjoy being a big guy, he didn’t like that his face could terrify children.
She noticed and ran her hand up his arm. “It so happens that I appreciate scary lads, you know,” she said in her husky voice.
When she looked at him as if he were a delectable treat, his ego expanded to fill all of Pinellas County. He cleared his throat. “I’ll wait here.” Unless there was a problem…then all bets were off.
She strode briskly into the store, and he’d known her long enough to read the tension in her body and the way she was alert to the people nearby. She’d tried to act as if the pickups weren’t dangerous, but she was obviously ready for action.
A minute later, she walked out, her arm around a woman’s waist, supporting her.
Jesus.
The limping woman had a black eye and a golf-ball-sized swelling on her cheek. A fat lip. Her stiff torso indicated her ribs were bruised or busted.
Anger roused and lifted its ugly head.
He took a step forward, then saw a young girl trailing after Anne. She couldn’t be more than twelve. Tears streaked her dirty cheeks.
Ben throttled his rage back. She’d seen enough violence. Trying to look harmless, he opened the back seat door and stepped away.
As the women approached the SUV, a man shouted. “Found you, you bitch. Stop right there.”
Like a terrified bird, Jane froze.
“Oh, honestly.” With a huff of irritation, Anne glanced over her shoulder. “Jane, get in the car.”
The woman didn’t move.
Her husband headed toward them with the narrow-minded focus of a fanatical insurgent.
So much for a safe pickup. The asshole had white dust on his ragged jeans and sweat-marked T-shirt. He probably worked in construction. About six feet and well over two hundred pounds, the man was muscular with a good-sized beer gut.