“Good,” Adria said, giving Bryson a kiss on the cheek before leaning to whisper, “Kaydon’s wrists. I saw them this morning.”
Bryson’s stomach knotted. So, she’d noticed too.
“Because Kaydon and I need to talk,” she announced, straightening.
Bryson watched Kaydon’s face drain of color.
God, he hoped Adria could help him. Because Bryson sure as shit couldn’t. Every time he tried to be firm or take control,Regan’s voice slithered into his mind. The memory of that monster’s hands on him, forcing him.
The thoughts swirled around him, strangling him. Suffocating him.
Bryson watched the pair disappear down the hallway; he waited just long enough to not be obvious before he got up and followed them.
CHAPTER 34
POLANCO
Adria’s stomach had clenched that morning when Kaydon’s sleeve rode up as he reached for the coffee pot. There it was. A fresh, angry, red mark.
Now, watching his face blanch as she called him out, her fingernails dug into her own palms. Self-harm needed therapy, internal work—all luxuries they didn’t have. For now, she would have to help Kaydon the only way she knew how.
Kaydon followed her down the hallway, and Adria felt something she didn’t normally feel before a play session.
Nervous.
Adria tried not to be too hard on herself. Bryson had known that Kaydon was self-harming, but she hadn’t. It was a failing on her part, but Adria knew in the future she was going to do better.
The past few weeks, they had been in triage mode. Attempting to staunch the bleeding.
Escape.
But now that they had some breathing room, Adria needed to pay better attention.
Turning to face him, she crossed her arms on her chest. Heels stamping onto the floor as she stared him down.
“Close the door,” she said.
He complied without hesitation. She ordered him to take off his clothes and kneel at her feet.
When he was in position, Adria ran her fingers through his soft hair. Enjoying the feeling of him leaning into her.
“Show me your arms,” she said.
“It was just an accident,” he said, pulling his arms into his body.
Adria just waited.
Finally, he relented, displaying his arms in front of him.
There they were. The new red marks.
It broke her that her Mr. Sunshine was hurting so badly that he was resorting to self-harm.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said. “They’re just on the surface.”
Adria retrieved the bag of supplies that she had collected from the estate. It was amazing how many household items could be turned into BDSM implements.
She ran a single fingernail along the top of his shoulders. “And when ‘just the surface’ no longer offers you adequate release?” Adria asked, already knowing the answer.
