“And Uncle C must teach you de kick,” George added as he swayed against his father’s legs. “De bestest spin one.”
“Inside, monsters,” Jagger chuckled as he steered them toward the door. “Before you fall asleep standing up.”
“Not monsters,” Gloria protested through a massive yawn. “Angels... Uncle C said so…”
“Love you, Uncle C!” They chorused as Moira herded them inside. “Love you, Aunty Si!”
Crone gathered her close. “You did so well in there, love. I am so proud of you.”
Sienna basked in the praise offered in a thickened voice. “No one could stay unaffected with those two around,” she murmured against his chest, breathing in the mingled scents of bubble bath, chocolate, and him.
“No,” he agreed, “but not everyone would have opened their heart to let them in so completely.” He tilted her chin up. “You’re stronger than you know, love. The way you let them love you today... that takes real courage.”
As they drove home, Sienna watched the stars emerge above the Sapphire Mountains. The hollow space inside her that had echoed with loss for so long now hummed with a new possibility. Not to heal completely, but the promise of it. Like the first warmbreeze of spring after a long winter, the heavy burden inside her now carried the oath of growth and renewal.
She touched the slightly sticky handprint Gloria had left on her sleeve, and for the first time in years, she smiled without shadows lingering at the edge. Sometimes, the best medicine came in small packages, wrapped in bubble bath and fairy-tale movies, and delivered by tiny hands that knew nothing of darkness—only the simple, unconditional love that children offered so freely.
“Thank you,” she whispered, though Crone was focused on driving. “For knowing exactly what I needed, even when I didn’t.”
His hand found hers in the darkness, squeezing gently. They didn’t talk for the rest of the journey. No words were necessary. The twins had said it all.
Chapter Fourteen
One month later, the Dungeon, Rawhide Ranch
Crone
Crone’s boots echoed against the floor as he circled the Saint Andrew’s cross. For the session, he’d requested that the lighting be soft but not dim to keep the atmosphere warm and soothing. The scent of leather and sandalwood from the diffuser drifted in the still air.
“Relax, little one. I am here. Just breathe... feel the warmth of my hand.” His voice remained low and steady. Each stroke along her arm left goosebumps in its wake but her skin felt cool despite the room’s warmth.
Sammy had arrived at Rawhide three weeks ago, completely traumatized from the abusive relationship with her Daddy Dom. The raised welts across her back told stories of vicious whippings with each scar a testament to his sadistic nature.
The sight of her protruding ribs and the rope burns scarring her wrists and ankles had ignited a cold fury in Crone’s gut. The bastard had kept her caged, preying on her Little headspace of a six-year-old to feed his psychotic needs. Though Crone held no personal interest in Daddy Dom dynamics, his time at RawhideRanch had shown him how those relationships should bloom with tenderness and protection, not wither under abuse.
“I want out.” Her whisper cracked as her fingers clenched against the leather restraints. “Please, Master Crone… I’m scared.”
“Shh, Sammy. Open your eyes and look at me.” He waited until her gaze met his. “There… see? It’s me, Master Crone.” Another gentle brush over her shoulder. She winced but didn’t pull away. “I am not him, and remember, you are at Rawhide Ranch, your safe haven. No one will hurt you here.”
“I…” Her eyes moved to the whip that was draped over his shoulder. She shook her head as tears formed. “Not the whip, please.”
Crone stepped closer to cup her chin, keeping her eyes locked with his. “I promise I am not going to harm you. At first you’ll feel nothing but soft sweeps and it might sting later, but one thing I can assure you, little one, is that I will never cut your skin or draw blood.” His thumb drew small circles under her chin. “Let me take you on this journey, Sammy, and together we’ll find the gate to open to help exonerate the ghosts that keep you awake at night once and for all.”
“Please… can you use something else? Just not the whip.”
“Did he ever use anything else, Sammy?”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “No. He loved to see me bleed.”
“Then I need to show you that the whip in the hands of a true Dom is not a tool of torture but of healing, and one day, even pleasure.” Crone bent down to retrieve a stuffed bunny from his toy bag, pink and fluffy with long floppy ears, just like Gloria’s beloved Mr. Hoppy. “I brought you something. You can hold on to her if you like.”
Sammy’s eyes brightened as he pressed the toy into her trembling hands. Her fingers curled around the soft neck,clutching it for all she was worth. “I… he never allowed me stuffies. Oh, she’s so pretty.” Tears were now falling freely but didn’t tamper the joy deep within. “W-what’s her name?”
“Ah, little one. She’s yours to name.”
“She looks like… Hope.” Her smile quivered at the edges. “I know… I’ll call her Miss Hoppy.”
Crone smiled, already imagining how a play session with Gloria and Mr. Hoppy might help the healing path of this traumatized soul.
