“What about you?” she asked Amber, deflecting the conversation.
“Me?” Amber blinked.
Taking advantage of the surprise, Daphne pushed on. “Yes, you. Are you back in the saddle? Any sexy time in your life? I hear there are any number of men in the club—those not taken, of course—who are willing to accommodate.”
“What? How did you hear that? And what does that mean?” Callie asked.
Daphne chuckled. Amber blushed. “It means that helping people leave abusive situations isn’t the only freedom the Falcons are known to facilitate,” Daphne replied.
“Still not following, and still don’t understand how you know this,” Callie said.
“I have a friend in France who does similar work. Her sister is part of the same network as the Falcons. I did some research.”
“Research into their sex lives?” Callie asked.
Daphne laughed. “For as brilliant as you are, little sister, you are sometimes a little slow. When you and Gabe started mending fences, I knew you’d end up here. Of course, I did my research on him and the club. I wanted to be sure you were landing somewhere…good, safe, somewhere that would value you. One thing led to another, which led to a night of drinking until three in the morning with my friend and her sister, and it came outthat some of the Falcons have helped more than one person regain their sexual confidence.”
Callie blinked, then turned to Amber, who smiled before saying, “It’s true, they have.” She paused. “When you’ve been in situations like mine, everything gets taken from you. Your freedom, your sense of self, any enjoyment you might find in life,everything. Including whether or how to enjoy sex. And it’s not uncommon for sex to be weaponized by the abuser, which, as you can imagine, is scarring in a whole different way. Some women who come to the clubhouse want to reclaim that part of their life. They want to learn to enjoy sex, maybe for the first time or maybe regain what they’d lost. A couple of the guys are happy to help with that.” She paused, then added, “It used to happen more frequently—not all the time, but enough that it wasn’t uncommon. Since the guys started partnering up, though, first Mantis, then Stone and so on, it’s happened less and less. I haven’t heard of it happening in months, actually.”
“I had no idea,” Callie said.
Amber shot Daphne a concerned look. “Should we not be talking about this?”
Callie waved her hand. “Both Gabe and I had lives before meeting again last fall. And honestly, it’s easier to think of him helping a woman heal, reclaim her power, than to think about him in love with someone else?—”
“He’s never loved anyone else,” Daphne interjected.
“Maybe he has or maybe he hasn’t, but he loves me now, and I don’t question him or our commitment to each other,” Callie responded. “I just didn’t know, and it seems like something I should have. Not about what my brothers-in-law are doing, or did, but, well, about sex being part of the recovery process for some people who’ve been in abusive situations. It makes me feel kind of shitty I didn’t think of that.”
Amber shrugged. “Why would you? You’ve never had cause to dive into the nitty-gritty of this kind of recovery. If you worked in the field, sure, you should know. But you’re a financial crimes wonk. All I can say about your world is that money laundering is a thing.”
Callie made a face, but her brow softened as she accepted the truth of Amber’s words. “So are you going to take any of the willing guys up on it?” she asked.
Amber shook her head. “Not brave enough.” She hesitated.
“Spill it,” Daphne chimed in, pulling a smile from her friend.
“I’m not going to lie and say I don’t find the idea…intriguing. Especially after seeing the bonds between the guys and their partners. I’m not sure I’ll ever have what you have, Callie, or what Mantis and Charley, or Lina and Viper, etc., etc., etc., but sometimes, well, sometimes it seems like it would be nice. Sex is obviously a part of that bond, and maybe someday I’ll work up the courage to ask for help. Not now, though. Not yet.”
Daphne didn’t want to minimize Amber’s comments, but she sensed the conversation had grown heavier than her friend wanted, so she posed a question. “Who would you pick if you did? Hawkeye has that serious sexy thing going on. Marley seems like he’d put the fun back in ‘profundity.’ Juan, well, I don’t think he earned his nickname as a joke.”
“Then there’s North, whose sense of direction might be helpful in ensuring he always finds…” Callie winked and dipped her chin south. “And don’t forget Scipio and his amazing ability to strategize.”
“So many to choose from,” Daphne said on a laugh. “Assuming they’re all willing, of course.”
“Stop,” Amber said through a laugh. “It’s not going to happen.” Daphne arched a brow. “Fine, it’s not going to happennow,” she clarified. “Can we go back to talking about Weeks and Beeks and Daisy and Lovell?”
“As much as I love a good conversation about murder for hire and criminals, I think our time here in the hot tub is up, ladies,” Callie said, nodding to the door. Three therapists stood in the opening. One looked wary, one was pretending she hadn’t heard Callie talk about killers for hire, and the third looked avidly curious.
Daphne laughed and pointed to the third. “I hope you’re my masseuse. I think we’ll have an interesting conversation.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Daphne walked into the bar, Callie on one side, Amber on the other, laughing at something. Lovell skimmed his gaze over her, noting her movements. Not quite back to normal, but much less stilted than when he and Philly had dropped them off a little over two hours ago.
At his side, Philly chuckled, pulling his attention to his brother. “What?” Lovell asked, braced for Philly to say something about the way he’d assessed Daphne.
“Check out the room,” Philly said.
