Steeling a Dream
Part 1: Diamonds of Steele
Part 1: Diamonds of Steele
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Steele Holting On
Chapter 13 Perspective
Murphy finished clearing the table before splashing good scotch into three short glasses. He handed one
to Remington, interrupting the man’s reverie, and placed the other two on the table. Mildred returned
from the other bedroom with a sheaf of printouts in one hand and several files in the other.
The three seated themselves around the table. “Murphy, you should teach the Boss a thing or two about
great technology. Oh, Mr. Steele, Murphy found me the most fabulous computer today. It just hops
right along, and I can get it to tell me anything!” She slid a notepad to each of them with a pen and, in an
unusual move, she took charge of the investigation. “Okay, boys, I’ve got a stack of evidence, but I
need a story.” She took a breath. “Mr. Steele, tell us what happened and don’t be shy with the details.”
Remington lifted his glass, paused, and then swallowed a healthy gulp before setting it down to clutch it
with both hands. “Sunday. On Sunday, we dressed for dinner and called for the limo.” In a nearly
monotone voice, he recounted the events. He told of the horror of watching Laura pound on the burning
car. He described the castle where they were held and related the conversations with O’Callaghan. And
then he had to tell them about Laura’s abuse and O’Callaghan’s reasoning for it. He rose halfway
through and poured another glass of scotch before he could recount the last portion.
Mildred took notes despite the sobs she snuffled back. Hearing the full extent of what the pair endured
caused her heart to ache painfully. She dashed away the tears, promising herself a good cry later. Right
now she needed to focus.
Murphy watched Remington’s body language. Through the recitation, he realized the other man was not
giving them every single detail. If Mildred picked up on it, he couldn’t tell. She was patiently taking
notes in shorthand, not asking any questions at all. His respect for his brother-in-law rose significantly.
Despite his obvious emotional distress, Steele gave them explicit names and descriptions, maps he
sketched out on the spot and even a timeline of events. Either Laura had taught him well, or he had an
innate sense for details. Or both. But Murphy noticed each time he talked about Laura, his hands shook
though he tried to hide it by clutching his pen or glass. Murphy himself had to swallow past an enormous
lump in his throat as he listened to Remington’s descriptions.
When he was done, Mildred began drilling him. She wasn’t yet looking for motivations; she was looking
for more facts about the people, locations and events. She made him go over the story again, point by
point, until she was satisfied she had every fact that Remington could remember along with a whole list
of speculations they would dig through tomorrow.
The entire process took almost three hours, and Mildred could see the stress taking its toll on her boss.
She stacked her files and called it quits. “That’s enough, Chief. In the morning, we’ll go over it again
when Laura is awake, and then we’ll try to get at the heart of the matter.”
“Perfect, Mildred. Thank you.” Distractedly, he nodded at her before rising to check on Laura. He
hardly noticed when she gathered her things and bid Murphy good night. Laura’s breathing steadied
him. He failed to understand why something so simple could reassure him so much. He pressed his
hand to her face, looking for fever, grateful he found none. For lack of anything better to do, Remington
smoothed another heavy blanket over Laura, conscious of the cold she endured during her ordeal, and
then built up a fire in the hearth for good measure.
Rising, he turned to Murphy, who was sitting at the far end of the room at the elegant raised bar in the
kitchen. “My apologies. I’ll move her to the bedroom and you can get some rest.”
“Leave her. She’s fine. I’m not tired yet; I think I’m still on Denver time.”
Remington crossed to Murphy and held out his hand. “I haven’t properly thanked you for coming. I
appreciate knowing she has you looking after her.”
Murphy gave it a firm shake and clapped him on the shoulder. “Steele, we haven’t always agreed on
much other than that Laura is a special woman. But I’m thankful you’re still with her. She loves you.”
“And I her.” Steele sat down on the other stool.
“I didn’t really think you two would ever work things out, but Mildred said you would both finally come
around. So did Bernice, for that matter. I’ve got to give you credit; Laura’s pretty stubborn. I should
know.” The men exchanged wry grins.
“Aye, mate. But I love her, and she couldn’t wiggle around that, no matter how hard she tried.”
Murphy laughed at that. “How are Kate and the twins?” Remington and Laura had seen the tykes just
this past Christmas, a few days before their birthday.
“Kate and the boys are perfect. Thank God for nannies though. If it wasn’t for that, I would have never
made it here. She would have my head for leaving her with Aiden and Ian and no help. Even at only a
year old, they are little terrors.” Murphy shook his head. “How about you two? Ever thought about
kids? You guys have been married, what, two years now?” Murphy idly fired questions at Remington.
He took a sip of his drink, causing Murphy to laugh and mock-punch him in the shoulder. “Not on your
radar, huh?”
Steele rubbed his bicep, accidentally pushing up the sleeve to reveal nasty gashes underneath. “Actually,
we talked about it. Surprisingly enough, we both want a family.”
Distracted by the ragged wounds, Murphy shoved the shirt sleeve up even higher. He ignored what
Remington revealed and demanded, “What the hell happened to you? Damn it, Steele, I knew there was
more. It’s time to sing, pal.” Steele ignored him for a moment and tugged his shirt sleeve back down.
He lifted his glass and drank deeply. By Murphy’s count, this was his third or fourth scotch, and Steele
might just be under the influence enough to be honest.
But Steele was more than sober. He was a master of drinking less than it appeared. With Laura’s life at
stake, he wouldn’t dare put himself in the position of not being able to react to whatever danger might
pop up. “What makes you think there’s more?” he tested Murphy. “Mildred made me go over it twice.”
“Because while she was writing, I was watching you. What else happened to Laura?”
Remington swore under his breath. Sometimes it was annoying having detectives in the family. He ran
his fingers through his hair before answering him. “Do you remember the part I told you--that they gave
her a mickey, and O’Callaghan gave me an ultimatum?”
“Yes.” Murphy stayed neutral, but his stomach went sour.
“At first, things were fine. It wasn’t quite the setting I prefer, but despite all that, things were ... fine.”
“You said you made love to her while she was drugged,” Murphy prompted.
Steele snorted. “If you can call it that. No, this was pure sex--no emotions, just sex for the pleasure of
it. At that point she seemed to know it was me and took me for a hell of a ride. She was quite ...
aggressive.” He motioned toward his own shoulder. “She was that way for hours. Murph, I’ve made
love through the night on a number of occasions, but this? Bugger me; after the first couple of hours,
this was bloody hell. I was terrified the whole time that if I didn’t stay with her, O’Callaghan would send
one of his boys in. And that wasn’t even the worst of it.”
He was quiet for a long time and Murphy patiently waited him out. “Toward morning, some part of her
brain woke up. She didn’t think it was me anymore because she thought she saw me die. She ... didn’t
know me at all. She was afraid of me and fought me.” Remington clenched his fists in remembrance.
He could barely get the next words out. “O’Callaghan came into the room and told me to take her once
more. She screamed the whole time. I raped her, Murphy. I raped my own wife, my own lovely Laura,
in front of a perfect stranger.” Deep masculine sobs erupted from him while Murphy gripped his forearm
in sympathy. Remington laid his head down on his crossed arms while his shoulders shook in grief.
Laura listened from her place on the sofa where her own tears ran down her cheeks. She'd awakened
earlier after her husband had tucked the blanket around her, but she lay in a cozy half-doze, listening to
the comforting murmur of the men’s voices.
She paid attention only after Murphy demanded answers from Remington. What she heard shocked
her. To Remington, their physical relationship was a potent demonstration of his love for her. She knew
him well enough to know that for him to be forced to hurt her in that way, that there were bound to be
serious repercussions to his psyche. The bastard that set up her husband couldn’t have picked a more
powerful trap for him.
Quietly, she placed her feet on the floor and stood up, balancing on her good leg. Using the sofa and
chairs as leverage, she made her way to the other end of the room. Murphy looked up, but Laura
motioned for him to keep silent. He stood up to help her cross the last few steps to her husband and then
picked up his glass to go sit on the terrace. He had to swallow hard against the lump in his own throat.
Grateful for the privacy, Laura smiled sadly at him. She wrapped her arms around her husband, laying
her head between his shoulder blades. Remington’s head snapped up. “Bloody hell, Laura, tell me you
didn’t hear all that.” He sounded desperate as he turned to her and tried to scrub the wetness from his
eyes.
She shifted, but kept her arms around him. “I did. How about we pretend that you were planning to
give me the details in private when I was feeling better, and we won’t argue about it, hmmm?” He noted
somewhere in his head that Laura looked and sounded better after this last nap. He raked a shaking hand
through his hair again and then crossed his arms over his chest, putting space between them.
“Laura, saying I’m sorry doesn’t seem adequate.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
Remington exploded with fury. “Laura, how can you say that? I hurt you! You screamed and cried
while I bloody well fucked you!” He clutched her shoulders in anguish, and then the rage blew away
when he tipped his forehead to hers, leaving only deep sorrow. “I’m so damned sorry, Laura. I love
you and I never want to hurt you. I’m sorry, love.” She pulled him to her and held him while he wept
with shame.
It only took a few moments before he realized that he was leaning on Laura, and she was shaking with
the effort of holding him up. “Oh, Good Lord, Laura. What am I doing?” Once again, he lifted her in
his arms and carried her to the bedroom, arranging her until she was supported properly.
“Sit with me, Remington.” He did, not touching her. It took her a few minutes to think through the fog
in her head. She dug deep within herself to find the right words. “On that night, did you have a choice
about having sex with me?”
“Yes.” He scrubbed at his beard.
“Really? What were your other options? What would have happened if you chose not to be with me?”
“O’Callaghan threatened to let his boys have you.”
“Since you love me, that’s not really an option at all, is it?”
“No, I think not.” He ran a hand through his hair again.
“So you didn’t have a choice about having sex with me.” He started to speak, but she held up a hand.
“Did you have a choice about stopping or saying ‘no’?”
“No.” He began to see where she was going with this.
“What is it called when you aren’t allowed to say ‘no’ to sex?”
“Ah, Laura.”
“Say the word, Remington.”
“It’s called rape, Laura.”
“Rei, I wasn’t the only one that was raped. You were, too--in an odd, messed up way. For you to have
those memories of ... of me ... frightens me. And I love you, oh God, how I love you. I wish I could
take it all away.” She looked down at her bandaged hands, trying to think of how to ease his pain.
Normally, she would draw him out with touches and caresses because Remington needed physical
contact to help him emotionally, but she wasn’t sure how well that would work right now. “Tell me the
worst part.”
“Laura, no.”
“Tell me,” she insisted. “If you don’t, it will always be there. I’ll wonder and you’ll remember. And
things will never be quite right between us.”
Without meeting her eyes, Remington stripped off his undershirt. Laura was appalled. His entire upper
body was covered in bite marks and deep, vicious scratches--gouges, really--so deep the skin was torn
open in places. Heedless of her own pain, she sat up and pressed tender kisses to the few unmarked
areas on his back. “Oh, Rei, I’m sorry.”
He flinched from her. She pulled away, giving him space. He crumpled his shirt into a ball he held
between his hands. “The worst of it, Laura, is that I knew that you weren’t making love to me; you
were using me for pleasure. You were oblivious to how I felt and kept demanding more.” Remington
stared off into space. “Not once did you call me ‘Rei.’ And then when you began to come back to
yourself, you didn’t believe it was me. You fought me, using every dirty trick you know. Some of those
bruises I gave you when I pinned you down to keep you from hurting me.”
His voice grew hoarse, “When O’Callaghan saw us fighting, he came in and demanded that I take you
again. He let two of his boys come in the cell when I refused. I … couldn’t let them touch you, Laura.
His throat closed with a huge lump, but he forced the next words out. “They watched and laughed while
I raped you. You screamed and fought me the whole time. I hurt you.” He added in a low voice, “I
hate myself for that.”
For a long time, the couple sat on the bed, eyes wet but unable to comfort each other. They each were
terribly ashamed of their own actions.
Laura broke the silence first. “How ... how did you do it? Physically, I mean.”
He snorted. “In other words, was I attracted to you after all that? The answer is most assuredly ‘no.’ I
like my women quite willing, thank you.” He paused and hung his head. “It’s just technique, Laura.
Nothing else.”
She decided she was going to have to change the mood for them to get past this nightmare. “I’m certain
there’s a story behind that, but frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”
“Gone with the Wind, Vivian Leigh, Clark Gable, MGM, 1939,” he murmured out of habit.
“Exactly. Now get up and go into the bathroom; some of those marks need treating.”
“Laura, you can hardly stand up--“
“Then go get me the first aid kit, damn it!” she interrupted. “I’m bloody well going to try to fix what I
did to you, and this is all I can think of that you’ll let me do right now!” Laura’s frustration washed over
Remington, pushing him to his feet and toward the pile of medical supplies Fallon left for them.
She used her teeth to strip off the wrappings on her hands. The right one wasn’t too bad. It felt like a
sunburn, tight and sensitive but ignorable. The left hand, well, she kept the first two fingers wrapped up
but uncovered the rest. Remington stacked everything on the bed next to Laura and sat down near her.
She gently smeared antibiotic ointment across every single mark, large and small. The nastier ones
earned gauze and medical tape. “Off with the pants, buster. I want to see all of you.”
“Laura, darling, this really isn’t the time,” he chided gently, more out of habit than as a real protest.
“Strip, love. I can’t imagine your lovely bum remained intact.” Remington arched a brow, but dropped
his pants and briefs before lying prone across the bed where Laura could reach him. He turned his face
away from her. She was hurt, but bit her tongue to keep silent. Angry red scrapes covered her lover’s
buttocks, with lesser ones down his right thigh. Laura doctored those too. Her torso hurt, spouting out
sharp pains now and then, in spite of the medication, but she continued to ignore them and finished her
treatment.
“All done.” There was no response. Leaning all the way over --ouch!-- Remington’s closed eyes and
even breathing clued her in. She pulled the covers over his sleeping form and laid there for a long while
beside him, thinking.
Chapter 14 -- Legwork
Murphy finished clearing the table before splashing good scotch into three short glasses. He handed one
to Remington, interrupting the man’s reverie, and placed the other two on the table. Mildred returned
from the other bedroom with a sheaf of printouts in one hand and several files in the other.
The three seated themselves around the table. “Murphy, you should teach the Boss a thing or two about
great technology. Oh, Mr. Steele, Murphy found me the most fabulous computer today. It just hops
right along, and I can get it to tell me anything!” She slid a notepad to each of them with a pen and, in an
unusual move, she took charge of the investigation. “Okay, boys, I’ve got a stack of evidence, but I
need a story.” She took a breath. “Mr. Steele, tell us what happened and don’t be shy with the details.”
Remington lifted his glass, paused, and then swallowed a healthy gulp before setting it down to clutch it
with both hands. “Sunday. On Sunday, we dressed for dinner and called for the limo.” In a nearly
monotone voice, he recounted the events. He told of the horror of watching Laura pound on the burning
car. He described the castle where they were held and related the conversations with O’Callaghan. And
then he had to tell them about Laura’s abuse and O’Callaghan’s reasoning for it. He rose halfway
through and poured another glass of scotch before he could recount the last portion.
Mildred took notes despite the sobs she snuffled back. Hearing the full extent of what the pair endured
caused her heart to ache painfully. She dashed away the tears, promising herself a good cry later. Right
now she needed to focus.
Murphy watched Remington’s body language. Through the recitation, he realized the other man was not
giving them every single detail. If Mildred picked up on it, he couldn’t tell. She was patiently taking
notes in shorthand, not asking any questions at all. His respect for his brother-in-law rose significantly.
Despite his obvious emotional distress, Steele gave them explicit names and descriptions, maps he
sketched out on the spot and even a timeline of events. Either Laura had taught him well, or he had an
innate sense for details. Or both. But Murphy noticed each time he talked about Laura, his hands shook
though he tried to hide it by clutching his pen or glass. Murphy himself had to swallow past an enormous
lump in his throat as he listened to Remington’s descriptions.
When he was done, Mildred began drilling him. She wasn’t yet looking for motivations; she was looking
for more facts about the people, locations and events. She made him go over the story again, point by
point, until she was satisfied she had every fact that Remington could remember along with a whole list
of speculations they would dig through tomorrow.
The entire process took almost three hours, and Mildred could see the stress taking its toll on her boss.
She stacked her files and called it quits. “That’s enough, Chief. In the morning, we’ll go over it again
when Laura is awake, and then we’ll try to get at the heart of the matter.”
“Perfect, Mildred. Thank you.” Distractedly, he nodded at her before rising to check on Laura. He
hardly noticed when she gathered her things and bid Murphy good night. Laura’s breathing steadied
him. He failed to understand why something so simple could reassure him so much. He pressed his
hand to her face, looking for fever, grateful he found none. For lack of anything better to do, Remington
smoothed another heavy blanket over Laura, conscious of the cold she endured during her ordeal, and
then built up a fire in the hearth for good measure.
Rising, he turned to Murphy, who was sitting at the far end of the room at the elegant raised bar in the
kitchen. “My apologies. I’ll move her to the bedroom and you can get some rest.”
“Leave her. She’s fine. I’m not tired yet; I think I’m still on Denver time.”
Remington crossed to Murphy and held out his hand. “I haven’t properly thanked you for coming. I
appreciate knowing she has you looking after her.”
Murphy gave it a firm shake and clapped him on the shoulder. “Steele, we haven’t always agreed on
much other than that Laura is a special woman. But I’m thankful you’re still with her. She loves you.”
“And I her.” Steele sat down on the other stool.
“I didn’t really think you two would ever work things out, but Mildred said you would both finally come
around. So did Bernice, for that matter. I’ve got to give you credit; Laura’s pretty stubborn. I should
know.” The men exchanged wry grins.
“Aye, mate. But I love her, and she couldn’t wiggle around that, no matter how hard she tried.”
Murphy laughed at that. “How are Kate and the twins?” Remington and Laura had seen the tykes just
this past Christmas, a few days before their birthday.
“Kate and the boys are perfect. Thank God for nannies though. If it wasn’t for that, I would have never
made it here. She would have my head for leaving her with Aiden and Ian and no help. Even at only a
year old, they are little terrors.” Murphy shook his head. “How about you two? Ever thought about
kids? You guys have been married, what, two years now?” Murphy idly fired questions at Remington.
He took a sip of his drink, causing Murphy to laugh and mock-punch him in the shoulder. “Not on your
radar, huh?”
Steele rubbed his bicep, accidentally pushing up the sleeve to reveal nasty gashes underneath. “Actually,
we talked about it. Surprisingly enough, we both want a family.”
Distracted by the ragged wounds, Murphy shoved the shirt sleeve up even higher. He ignored what
Remington revealed and demanded, “What the hell happened to you? Damn it, Steele, I knew there was
more. It’s time to sing, pal.” Steele ignored him for a moment and tugged his shirt sleeve back down.
He lifted his glass and drank deeply. By Murphy’s count, this was his third or fourth scotch, and Steele
might just be under the influence enough to be honest.
But Steele was more than sober. He was a master of drinking less than it appeared. With Laura’s life at
stake, he wouldn’t dare put himself in the position of not being able to react to whatever danger might
pop up. “What makes you think there’s more?” he tested Murphy. “Mildred made me go over it twice.”
“Because while she was writing, I was watching you. What else happened to Laura?”
Remington swore under his breath. Sometimes it was annoying having detectives in the family. He ran
his fingers through his hair before answering him. “Do you remember the part I told you--that they gave
her a mickey, and O’Callaghan gave me an ultimatum?”
“Yes.” Murphy stayed neutral, but his stomach went sour.
“At first, things were fine. It wasn’t quite the setting I prefer, but despite all that, things were ... fine.”
“You said you made love to her while she was drugged,” Murphy prompted.
Steele snorted. “If you can call it that. No, this was pure sex--no emotions, just sex for the pleasure of
it. At that point she seemed to know it was me and took me for a hell of a ride. She was quite ...
aggressive.” He motioned toward his own shoulder. “She was that way for hours. Murph, I’ve made
love through the night on a number of occasions, but this? Bugger me; after the first couple of hours,
this was bloody hell. I was terrified the whole time that if I didn’t stay with her, O’Callaghan would send
one of his boys in. And that wasn’t even the worst of it.”
He was quiet for a long time and Murphy patiently waited him out. “Toward morning, some part of her
brain woke up. She didn’t think it was me anymore because she thought she saw me die. She ... didn’t
know me at all. She was afraid of me and fought me.” Remington clenched his fists in remembrance.
He could barely get the next words out. “O’Callaghan came into the room and told me to take her once
more. She screamed the whole time. I raped her, Murphy. I raped my own wife, my own lovely Laura,
in front of a perfect stranger.” Deep masculine sobs erupted from him while Murphy gripped his forearm
in sympathy. Remington laid his head down on his crossed arms while his shoulders shook in grief.
Laura listened from her place on the sofa where her own tears ran down her cheeks. She'd awakened
earlier after her husband had tucked the blanket around her, but she lay in a cozy half-doze, listening to
the comforting murmur of the men’s voices.
She paid attention only after Murphy demanded answers from Remington. What she heard shocked
her. To Remington, their physical relationship was a potent demonstration of his love for her. She knew
him well enough to know that for him to be forced to hurt her in that way, that there were bound to be
serious repercussions to his psyche. The bastard that set up her husband couldn’t have picked a more
powerful trap for him.
Quietly, she placed her feet on the floor and stood up, balancing on her good leg. Using the sofa and
chairs as leverage, she made her way to the other end of the room. Murphy looked up, but Laura
motioned for him to keep silent. He stood up to help her cross the last few steps to her husband and then
picked up his glass to go sit on the terrace. He had to swallow hard against the lump in his own throat.
Grateful for the privacy, Laura smiled sadly at him. She wrapped her arms around her husband, laying
her head between his shoulder blades. Remington’s head snapped up. “Bloody hell, Laura, tell me you
didn’t hear all that.” He sounded desperate as he turned to her and tried to scrub the wetness from his
eyes.
She shifted, but kept her arms around him. “I did. How about we pretend that you were planning to
give me the details in private when I was feeling better, and we won’t argue about it, hmmm?” He noted
somewhere in his head that Laura looked and sounded better after this last nap. He raked a shaking hand
through his hair again and then crossed his arms over his chest, putting space between them.
“Laura, saying I’m sorry doesn’t seem adequate.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
Remington exploded with fury. “Laura, how can you say that? I hurt you! You screamed and cried
while I bloody well fucked you!” He clutched her shoulders in anguish, and then the rage blew away
when he tipped his forehead to hers, leaving only deep sorrow. “I’m so damned sorry, Laura. I love
you and I never want to hurt you. I’m sorry, love.” She pulled him to her and held him while he wept
with shame.
It only took a few moments before he realized that he was leaning on Laura, and she was shaking with
the effort of holding him up. “Oh, Good Lord, Laura. What am I doing?” Once again, he lifted her in
his arms and carried her to the bedroom, arranging her until she was supported properly.
“Sit with me, Remington.” He did, not touching her. It took her a few minutes to think through the fog
in her head. She dug deep within herself to find the right words. “On that night, did you have a choice
about having sex with me?”
“Yes.” He scrubbed at his beard.
“Really? What were your other options? What would have happened if you chose not to be with me?”
“O’Callaghan threatened to let his boys have you.”
“Since you love me, that’s not really an option at all, is it?”
“No, I think not.” He ran a hand through his hair again.
“So you didn’t have a choice about having sex with me.” He started to speak, but she held up a hand.
“Did you have a choice about stopping or saying ‘no’?”
“No.” He began to see where she was going with this.
“What is it called when you aren’t allowed to say ‘no’ to sex?”
“Ah, Laura.”
“Say the word, Remington.”
“It’s called rape, Laura.”
“Rei, I wasn’t the only one that was raped. You were, too--in an odd, messed up way. For you to have
those memories of ... of me ... frightens me. And I love you, oh God, how I love you. I wish I could
take it all away.” She looked down at her bandaged hands, trying to think of how to ease his pain.
Normally, she would draw him out with touches and caresses because Remington needed physical
contact to help him emotionally, but she wasn’t sure how well that would work right now. “Tell me the
worst part.”
“Laura, no.”
“Tell me,” she insisted. “If you don’t, it will always be there. I’ll wonder and you’ll remember. And
things will never be quite right between us.”
Without meeting her eyes, Remington stripped off his undershirt. Laura was appalled. His entire upper
body was covered in bite marks and deep, vicious scratches--gouges, really--so deep the skin was torn
open in places. Heedless of her own pain, she sat up and pressed tender kisses to the few unmarked
areas on his back. “Oh, Rei, I’m sorry.”
He flinched from her. She pulled away, giving him space. He crumpled his shirt into a ball he held
between his hands. “The worst of it, Laura, is that I knew that you weren’t making love to me; you
were using me for pleasure. You were oblivious to how I felt and kept demanding more.” Remington
stared off into space. “Not once did you call me ‘Rei.’ And then when you began to come back to
yourself, you didn’t believe it was me. You fought me, using every dirty trick you know. Some of those
bruises I gave you when I pinned you down to keep you from hurting me.”
His voice grew hoarse, “When O’Callaghan saw us fighting, he came in and demanded that I take you
again. He let two of his boys come in the cell when I refused. I … couldn’t let them touch you, Laura.
His throat closed with a huge lump, but he forced the next words out. “They watched and laughed while
I raped you. You screamed and fought me the whole time. I hurt you.” He added in a low voice, “I
hate myself for that.”
For a long time, the couple sat on the bed, eyes wet but unable to comfort each other. They each were
terribly ashamed of their own actions.
Laura broke the silence first. “How ... how did you do it? Physically, I mean.”
He snorted. “In other words, was I attracted to you after all that? The answer is most assuredly ‘no.’ I
like my women quite willing, thank you.” He paused and hung his head. “It’s just technique, Laura.
Nothing else.”
She decided she was going to have to change the mood for them to get past this nightmare. “I’m certain
there’s a story behind that, but frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”
“Gone with the Wind, Vivian Leigh, Clark Gable, MGM, 1939,” he murmured out of habit.
“Exactly. Now get up and go into the bathroom; some of those marks need treating.”
“Laura, you can hardly stand up--“
“Then go get me the first aid kit, damn it!” she interrupted. “I’m bloody well going to try to fix what I
did to you, and this is all I can think of that you’ll let me do right now!” Laura’s frustration washed over
Remington, pushing him to his feet and toward the pile of medical supplies Fallon left for them.
She used her teeth to strip off the wrappings on her hands. The right one wasn’t too bad. It felt like a
sunburn, tight and sensitive but ignorable. The left hand, well, she kept the first two fingers wrapped up
but uncovered the rest. Remington stacked everything on the bed next to Laura and sat down near her.
She gently smeared antibiotic ointment across every single mark, large and small. The nastier ones
earned gauze and medical tape. “Off with the pants, buster. I want to see all of you.”
“Laura, darling, this really isn’t the time,” he chided gently, more out of habit than as a real protest.
“Strip, love. I can’t imagine your lovely bum remained intact.” Remington arched a brow, but dropped
his pants and briefs before lying prone across the bed where Laura could reach him. He turned his face
away from her. She was hurt, but bit her tongue to keep silent. Angry red scrapes covered her lover’s
buttocks, with lesser ones down his right thigh. Laura doctored those too. Her torso hurt, spouting out
sharp pains now and then, in spite of the medication, but she continued to ignore them and finished her
treatment.
“All done.” There was no response. Leaning all the way over --ouch!-- Remington’s closed eyes and
even breathing clued her in. She pulled the covers over his sleeping form and laid there for a long while
beside him, thinking.
Chapter 14 -- Legwork