“Last one.” Dylan deposited a box on a stack near the front door, part of the cardboard labyrinth in the living room. When Ari said nothing, she sensed dread. They were both learning to recognize and manage the lasting post-traumatic stress caused by Lady Katrina and Maxi Delacroix. “Babe, where are you?”
She weaved her way through their new house and headed down the hallway. A smile grew on her face as she approached the last door on the right, hearing Ari’s sweet voice singing. She nudged the door open and peeked inside.
Her heart swelled at the sight of Ari, headphones on, singing and dancing while unpacking a box of clothes. Not one to waste an opportunity to witness Ari’s happiness, Dylan leaned against the doorframe and took in the wonder of the woman she loved.
After six months of arduous work, things looked bright for the two of them. After Ari’s rescue, her injuries required a hospital stay. Followed by months of therapy just for her to feel safe again. They chose a BDSM-aware therapist, and through couples sessions, they learned techniques to approach intimate play conducive to Ari’s recovery. Dylan vowed to be by her side every step of the way, and she had. Without a doubt, she’d always be there for Ari.
The cuts and bruises healed and a few physical scars remained. It was the mental scarring that hadn’t healed, rightfully so. Moments where Ari sang and danced were rare. It usually accompanied bouts of haunting memories that paralyzed her to the point she tensed her muscles so hard it required massage to release the spasticity. Dylan remained committed to doing just that.
Ari wasn’t the only one who felt the lingering effects of the kidnapping. Dylan’s possessiveness was on constant alert, not wanting Ari out of her sight. Losing Lucy contributed to her need to protect Ari. She could only handle one major loss in her life. Her priority was to keep Ari safe, even if it meant taking a life.
With a broad smile, Dylan spoke loud enough for Ari to hear, “Hey, beautiful! What are you doing?”
Startled, Ari pressed her hand to her chest. Her mouth momentarily hung open in fright before transforming into a wide, ear-to-ear grin. “Dylan! You shit. How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.” Dylan crossed the room and took Ari into her arms. This was the only place she wanted to be. It took a while to get there, but they had purchased a small townhome close to Billie, who shared the same protectiveness as Dylan. While Billie had been a great friend to them, it still hurt whenever she visited because Dylan had lost her best friend, and Ari still had hers.
“Did you speak to Detective Brody?” Ari asked. Again.
The same as she had every day since her rescue. And each time, Dylan’s answer remained the same, “I did. They still haven’t found Lucy or Corina.”
The fact of the matter was that Dylan and Detective Brody had not spoken to each other. After months of constant nagging, he flat out told Dylan to stop calling. One, it wasn’t her place. Two, they were no closer to locating Corina, also known as Lady Katrina, than they were on that horrific night.
The police had searched every inch of The Silo, and they couldn’t find a trace of Lucy. No DNA. No clothes. The video feed to the website had ceased the moment Lady Katrina slammed a deadly dildo into Lucy’s backside. At first, the police officers refused to even list Lucy as missing since there wasn’t any evidence. So Ida filed an official report that added Lucy’s name to the missing persons list.
Corina Cove was nowhere to be found, either. The difference was that she wasn’t on a list of missing people. In fact, she wasn’t even on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. She was like a chameleon, adapting and blending into her surroundings. She had more aliases than Dylan had pairs of Ari’s panties.
“The case is still open, though. Right?”
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