Page 72 of Lesson In Honesty
Sierra
Sierra’s Stuffie Sanctuary.
It was right there in pink and white, a cotton candy storefront with her name front and freaking center. The storage unit doors were gone, replaced with a wide wooden counter and window. An old-fashioned cash register, green and brass, sat on the left in contrast to the modern card reader beside it.
The counter was covered in a padded leather top—the same hunter green as the till. The rest of the dark wood was polished to a gleam, so the small spotlights above reflected their soft light.
More of those lights were aimed at the empty shelves behind the counter; shelves she could imagine her once broken and maimed stuffies sitting on, waiting for the right person to come along and offer them a home.
A lot like she’d been, she thought, when she huddled in the cold on Avalon’s porch, hoping Wyatt would come back before her bones were gnawed away by the chill. Wishing she was normal so she could go inside where it was warm, so people wouldn’t laugh and jeer at the freak in their midst.
Liam hadn’t cared; he’d loved her anyway.
Sierra drifted toward the holy grail, doubts tearing her apart. She longed for this place, she’d dreamed of being worthy enough to stand behind the counter and show off her wares, finding just the right stuffie for each person who came to her.
Reality, however, liked to gouge holes in her.
She fixedstuffiesfor God’s sake. Treated them like living pets—or worse, so much worse—children. How could anyone take her seriously when she let herself get sucked into the work until every stitch was vital, each wad of stuffing needing to be insertedjust so, and the final product couldn’t be anything less than as perfect as she could make it.
Most Littles who came here already had beloved stuffies.
Was she really so naïve to believe they’d see her previously rejected and abandoned misfits as anything more than recycled trash? Hell, she already donated dozens upon dozens to the local hospitals in Phoenix, and she had no idea if any of them found their place with the sick children.
Her shoulders sagged. Now she was just being ridiculous; the staff were always gracious when accepting the gifts, grateful for them. Not once had they given her the impression that her donations went anywhere other than where she intended.
“Don’t be sad!” Callie bounced over, latching her hands onto Sierra’s. “This is going to be so much fun! Daddy Vander already said I can buy many stuffies!”
“Anystuffie, Callie. As in one, not plural.”
Her eyes narrowed as she considered arguing with the massive blond Dom, then her expression sweetened to perfect innocence. “Sorry, Daddy, I must have heard you wrong.” She giggled, swinging their joined hands as she danced excitedly, then lowered her voice. “I has my own monies. I can buy as many stuffies as I wants.”
“We’re not deaf, Callie,” Elias pointed out sternly.
Something flickered behind her eyes, the gray darkening as her adult side woke and stretched. “I am an adult, Eli. If I want to buy a million stuffies with my own damn money, I will.”
Don’t fight. Please don’t fight.
Sierra stiffened, trying to tug free when Elias’s features hardened into a scary mask. Her heart vomited into her throat as he approached with the stealthy stalk of a predator on the hunt; Liam had that same talent, only Elias was a master at it.
Sadist with his chain snapped.
“An adult, hmmm?” British accent in full flow, he wrapped an elegant hand around his wife’s throat. “Well then, isn’t that a delightful coincidence? Van and I have been waiting for an opportunity to exploit ouradultwife, haven’t we?”
Evander tilted his head in acknowledgement. “We have indeed.”
“Exploit how?”
Casually, he lifted his other hand. For a moment, Sierra thought he meant to strike the tiny woman held prisoner in his grasp. She braced to push herself between them, then felt her knees buckle when he simply turned his fingers into a cone, twisting his wrist back and forth, then scrunched them into a fist.
Eyes on her husband, Callie turned white. She turned an imploring gaze at Evander while her hand clenched viciously on Sierra’s. When she spoke, her voice was barely a croak. “No.”
Sierra’s gaze bounced from Dom to Dom. Evander’s expression softened slightly, yet Elias’s never faltered. They were completely in sync, like good cop, bad cop. Black and white, blond and dark, brutal and compassionate.
Yet even in his sadism, Elias showed his own brand of compassion in the gentle stroke of his thumb over the side of Callie’s throat. Caressing the pulse that was no doubt rabbiting under his control—Sierra was just grateful he couldn’t monitor her heartbeat the same way, because her heart was pounding in empathy for her friend.
“The only choice you’ve got is whose hand gets the honor, little one.”
Honestly, if Sierra was in Callie’s shoes right now, she’d be seriously contemplating tattooing her safeword on her forehead. What the hell kind of choice was that—Elias’s hands were big enough, but Evander’s were like grizzly bear paws.