Sexy Beast VI. Lydia Parks

wanted to dress her up and then take off those same clothes. She’d had men purchase her time who wanted her to spank them. She’d actually sort of enjoyed that, especially when she was little.

      When you’re little, just about everything’s a game.

      She hadn’t liked it nearly as much when they wanted to spank her. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She did what they asked and they still wanted her over their laps with her pants down and her round little bottom in the air.

      Damn, she was so screwed. No way in hell could she ever be a normal woman. Not now. Not after all that had been done to her over the years. Twenty-two years old, not a penny to her name, no real identification, no Social Security number, no idea what country she even came from.

      She’d always figured her mom must have been Asian and her father black. Maybe a serviceman somewhere? She’d never know. Not that it would make any difference, but what kind of parent sold their child to a sex slaver?

      “Penny for your thoughts?”

      “Hey, Logan.” She snorted, but she was secretly pleased he’d come down to her end of the porch. “You wouldn’t want ’em. Not even if I paid you.” Jazzy scratched her arms.

      “They might be better than what I’ve got, which is a big, fat zero. I keep thinking I should remember something, but all I get is stuff that seems to come out of TV shows.”

      Jazzy frowned. “What kind of stuff?”

      He actually looked embarrassed. “Some medical show. I see doctors and nurses. Sometimes an operating room.”

      “That’s probably from when you were first hurt. You’re remembering the doctors and nurses taking care of you.”

      He shrugged. “Yeah. That must be it.”

      When he looked away, though, Jazzy knew he didn’t agree. She turned back and gazed out at the redwoods, but her arms and legs felt all twitchy. She stood up. “I’m going to take a walk. Want to go with me? Let’s see if we can find Deacon.”

      “Where’d he go?”

      She pointed toward a break in the forest. “He took that trail. Said he wouldn’t go far, but he’s been gone about an hour.”

      “Should we tell anyone we’re leaving?”

      Jazzy shrugged. “Who? Everyone else is either screwing or sleeping. Leave a note.”

      Logan went inside and came back a minute later with a water bottle he stuck in his pocket. “I just left a note on the table. Told them we’re taking a short hike and trying to meet up with Deacon.”

      Jazzy laughed. “I’ve seen your writing. By the time they figure out your chicken scratches, we’ll probably be back.”

      Logan flashed her a dirty look. Then he grinned. “C’mon. I need some exercise.” He grabbed her hand and tugged Jazzy along behind him. She went willingly, more aware than ever of the warmth of his hand, the tingle in her palm, and the matching sensations between her legs.

      “It’s weird, but I can actually tell which way Deacon went.”

      Logan glanced at Jazzy. “You, too? I thought it was just me. What are you following?”

      Jazzy grinned. “The scent of his shaving cream. My nose is so much more sensitive now. What about you?”

      Logan hated to admit that all this crap about turning into wolves was actually true, but he couldn’t deny facts. “I smell that, too, but I can actually see his body heat. It’s a visible image, like a thin film in the air.”

      Frowning, Jazzy stared at the trail ahead of them. “I see it now. I think. Sort of a wavy line about waist height?” She glanced down and laughed. “We could always just follow his footprints. Look.”

      Logan looked where Jazzy pointed. Plain as day, there were big footprints in the mud. Deacon’s heavy Doc Martens had left a noticeable trail. Logan knelt down in the mud and held up one beckoning finger. “Come, kimo sabe. White man go this way.” He stood up and laughed. “He can’t be too far ahead.”

      Talk about a man of many moods. Jazzy followed where Logan led. The trail got narrower, the going rougher, but still they followed Deacon’s tracks and scent trail. Suddenly, Jazzy pulled to a stop. She held her hand up and planted it firmly in Logan’s midsection. “What’s that noise?”

      Cocking his head, Logan caught the soft sound just ahead. “Shit, I think that’s Deacon! Sounds like he’s hurt.”

      They ran through thick ferns and an even thicker stand of pussy willows growing along the bank of a sharply cut ravine with a narrow stream at the bottom. The trail dropped precipitously.

      “Logan!” Jazzy’s foot slipped off the edge.

      Logan grabbed her upper arm and yanked her back. Flailing for a moment, she finally caught her balance. He pulled her close. Heart pounding, Logan wrapped her against his chest and hung on tight.

      “Help! Logan? Jazzy? That you?”

      “Deacon?” Logan took a deep breath. He turned Jazzy loose. Her fear pounded inside his head, the words clear and panic-stricken. He’d been picking up her random thoughts for the past day or so, but not this clearly. “Wait here,” he said.

      He surprised himself, and Jazzy as well, when he planted a firm kiss on her full lips. She was still standing there wide-eyed, lips slightly parted, when he carefully slipped between the willow branches to the edge of the cut. Using the strong roots hanging out of the sheer wall, he lowered himself the twenty or so feet to the bottom of the narrow chasm.

      Deacon’s lanky six-and-a-half-foot frame lay in a crumpled heap on a sandbar at the edge of the creek. His right leg lay beneath him, twisted awkwardly. Deacon’s normally fair skin was almost bluish in the shadowed light, and his hands were covered in shallow cuts and scratches. However, he’d managed to raise himself up on one elbow, which was a good sign.

      “Looks like you get the klutz of the year award.” Logan knelt down beside his friend and checked his pulse. A bit fast, but steady. “What happened?” He looked into Deacon’s eyes and wished he had a flashlight to check his response, but at least Deacon’s pupils were both the same size. Dilated, but that was to be expected, considering the pain he must be in.

      Logan actually felt Deacon’s pain. His leg ached so badly he could barely stand it. He consciously tried to block it so he’d be able to function. This was just too weird.

      Deacon slowly shook his head. “Walking along the trail watching some neat birds,” he said. His voice was thready, his pain a living, breathing entity from his toes to his head and Logan felt all of it. Deacon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opened them slowly. “The ground disappeared out from under me. I slid feet first until my foot got caught in some roots. Heard my leg snap. Banged my head.”

      “Bet that ruined your day. Did you black out?” Logan parted Deacon’s dark hair looking for injuries. There was a big knot in the middle of his forehead, but the skin wasn’t broken. He touched it lightly. Deacon jerked away.

      “Ouch. No, I didn’t black out. Son of a bitch! That hurt.”

      Logan laughed. “Well, at least we know you’re conscious and lucid. Just hold on. Good thing you landed on a sandbar and not in a pile of rocks.” Logan sensed before he saw Jazzy. He turned and saw her peeking through the branches at the edge of the ravine above them. “Can you find your way back?” he asked. “I think he’s got a broken leg. We’ll need Mik and AJ to get him out of here.”

      Jazzy’s sympathy washed over him in a warm wave. Her hand covered her mouth. “Oh, Deacon. I’m so sorry.” She scrambled to her feet. “I’m outta here. I’ll be back asap.”

      Logan heard the rustle in the branches as she raced back through the willows. He turned his attention back to his friend. “Can you move your fingers? Toes…well,