“My name is Anne and I’m from Tomorrow Is Mine. You spoke with the shelter manager, Amy, and she sent me.”
The terrified woman took a minute to process the information before saying in a hoarse, Southern-accented voice, “Ah’m Sue Ellen. And thank you for coming for me.”
Dark bruises marked her throat. Her bastard husband must have choked her.
Anne throttled her anger and motioned to the SUV. “You’re very welcome. Now, let’s get you off the street.” Because, damn, this was a small neighborhood. Everyone probably knew everyone.
“Yes’m.” Sue Ellen followed and put her child into the car seat in the back. When she reached for the straps, a groan escaped her.
“Let me, honey.” When Sue Ellen stepped back, Anne strapped the little boy in, crooning to him. He watched her warily. Not much older than Sophia, he had soft brown hair and pale skin. A bruise mottled one cheek.
As Sue Ellen slid into the front seat, a huge man walked out of the market and spotted them.
“Sue Ellen. What are you doing here?”
Oh, damn. Anne slammed the door and ran around the vehicle to jump in the driver’s side. Before her door had even shut, she stomped the gas. Not enough to squeal the tires…but damned fast.
As adrenaline danced in her veins, she checked the rearview mirror. Thick build, brutish features, the man resembled an ogre…and he was staring after them. “Is that your husband?”
“My husband’s brother.” Sue Ellen tried to turn and flinched at the movement. “He’s exactly like Billy. His wife divorced him last year and moved out of state. I should’ve gone with her.” She stared down at her hands. Bruises mottled the back of one in the shape of a heel. “I was too pregnant and too scared.”
“But you’re here now, and you’ll have help,” Anne said in a soothing voice. She’d misjudged Sue Ellen on the phone. This woman wasn’t about to go back to her husband. Probably the bruise on the baby’s face had strengthened her resolve. It was amazing how many women would finally act when their children were in danger.
“Billy will come after me,” Sue Ellen said, a tremor in her voice. “He won’t give up. And he has a lot of friends.”
“The shelter’s address isn’t listed anywhere. And there are safeguards.”
Hopefully, the brother hadn’t been quick enough to read the SUV’s license plate, but even then, no problem. Although the Ford Escape was Anne’s, since she drove it for fugitive apprehensions, her registration papers used the bail office as the address of record. Her own residence and phone number were unlisted.
Anne reached over and patted the woman’s leg. “You and your little boy are going to be fine.”
“We got away.” Sue Ellen’s chin lifted. “Me and my baby’ll start a new life. From scratch, but that’s all right. We’re free to make our own way.”
Tears stung Anne’s eyes. The woman had left behind everything. But rather than dwelling on her loss, she’d set her sights on building something new.
That truly was courage. In the light of this shining example, could Anne be any less brave?
Ben was her man, her submissive. It was her job to provide what he needed. To do that, she had to be brave enough to dig deep and hear what he had to say.
Chapter Twenty-One
On Saturday, Ben followed Mistress Anne up the Shadowlands spiral staircase, admiring the stiletto boots that barely showed under the rear of her black skirt. In the front, her skirt split almost to her crotch, giving tantalizing glimpses of her lightly tanned thighs.
Her black stretchy tank was his favorite—tight enough she went without a bra and her cleavage was emphasized by the sheer black lace around the neckline. Her outfit looked even sexier now that she’d removed the gold-trimmed vest she’d worn as a dungeon monitor.
How did she manage to look like a wet dream and still deliver that gut-clenching sense of menace?
Even Ghost, who was manning the security guard desk tonight, had given her a respectful look.
Ben reached the top and followed her down a quiet hall. Downstairs was where all the action was, right? “Why upstairs?” he wondered under his breath. Did she not want to be seen with him? Aside from not being her normal choice, he wasn’t a particularly good slave either.
Although he hadn’t spoken loudly, she answered. “Because you shouldn’t have to deal with the discomfort of scening in public on top of the nasty things that I want to do to you.”
Jesus. His jeans were way too fucking uncomfortable now.
She stopped at a door and let him open it for her—a habit he liked. She might be magnificently dominant and one of the deadliest women he knew, but she enjoyed letting him behave like a gentleman.