Ensnared (Brutes of Bristlebrook, #1)(94)

I swallow. “I do trust that, Dom. That you’ll keep us safe.”

And I did. I haven’t doubted that since he planted me beside him on that cliff face and laid waste to every one of the nightmares who chased me.

“If you did, you wouldn’t have come out here.” His voice is grim. “You think that if any one of the others had disobeyed orders like you did, that they wouldn’t get punished?”

“You’d bend them over Jasper’s lap too?” I ask tartly.

Dom’s face hardens. “They would be so lucky. Trust me when I tell you that you’re much better being punished as a submissive and a civilian than as one of my men.” He sighs and rubs a hand over his jaw. “It’s harsh because it needs to be.

Your decisions can have serious consequences, Eden, and I need to know that you’ll remember that lesson. Whatever you say, there’s a difference between thinking you understand something and really feeling it in your skin.”

Biting my lip, I think that through. Despite my serious lack of interest in “getting punished” there may be some teensy tiny point to what he’s saying. Beau nearly shot me, after all. That would have haunted him for the rest of his life.

“It also works to clear the slate, work out resentment in a healthy way. Once your punishment is over, it’s over. Lesson learned, no hard feelings.”

I give up and stare at him then. “Just like that?”

His lips tilt up again. “Just like that.”

This punishment sounds different to Jasper’s . . . vocation. In a way, it’s almost refreshing. No grudges. No guilt trips.

“Would you really call that a ‘healthy way’ though?” I ask, though I’m mostly teasing.

Dom rolls his eyes, then points his chin back at Beau. “You prefer that route? It’s gentler, sure, but it might be Christmas before he forgives you.”

Groaning, I bury my face in my hands. “You’re not helping.” I peek back up at him. “There has to be something else. He can’t have been in relationships before and not be able to have a mature conversation when he’s upset.”

Dom turns back to the trees, the tilt to his mouth vanishing.

My eyes narrow. “Well? What did he do with the others?”

His lips press together in a grimace, and I try and fail not to notice how full and pretty they are. Not that much about Dom can really be called pretty.

“You know we shared,” he says. Not a question. “If he was mad at our subbie, he’d come to me and we’d work out a suitable punishment. I’d facilitate the scene, set it up, and he’d use it to work out what he needed to get off his chest. But he’s not good at initiating that kind of thing on his own. Too conflicted. All that Christian guilt.”

I stare at him.

“Oh.” As that sinks in, my shoulders slump, and I repeat more quietly, “Oh.”

Dom has made his position clear. He wouldn’t touch me if I were the last woman on earth—and at this point, I might as well be.

So, no cathartic forgiveness scene for me. Unless . . .

“He wouldn’t— Would he do that with Jaykob?” I ask tentatively.

“No.” Tension bunches Dom’s shoulders. “He wouldn’t. He won’t. You might have noticed, but Jayk doesn’t play well with others.”

“But maybe, it could be like that first night with Jasper, when he—”

Dom’s brows slant down so hard, I cut myself off.

“That was a one-off,” he says curtly.

My breath leaves me in a long, slow sigh. Fine. No working things out that way then.

Dom’s eyes are on me, but I don’t want him doing that read-my-face-with-his-golden-laser-eyes thing, so I drop my chin to my knees and keep watching Beau.

“I’m going to scout a bit. Back in ten,” he says abruptly, pushing to his feet.



As he leaves, Beau looks over at him, then at me for just a moment before his gaze skips away. I’m debating whether or not to try the confronting-him method when I see what’s in his hands.

“No, stop!” I yell, jumping to my feet. Beau looks at me sharply, but I’m on him in moments. “Drop it. Drop it right now.”

“Eden, what—”

He doesn’t drop the herb, so I slap his hand, hard. Beau releases it with a curse, but I’ve already pulled out my canteen.

“You don’t have any cuts on your hand, do you? You didn’t eat any of it, right?” I splash water over his fingers, grasping his wrist when he goes to move away.

“Stop. Stop, woman. It’s Queen Anne’s lace—wild carrot—it’s harmless,” Beau snipes, yanking his hand out of my grip.

My pulse pounds in my throat, and I scan his face. He doesn’t seem ill. His pupils aren’t dilated, no trembling.

My voice comes out much harsher than I mean it to. “It’s not Queen Anne’s lace.” I bend down and pick up the stalks of the plant, avoiding touching the leaves. In a month or so, it will bud with tiny white flowers, but this one is bare. “This is water hemlock. See the purple splotching along the stem? Queen Anne’s lace is entirely green and has tiny white hairs sprouting along the stem. This is hairless.”

Beau hesitates, then reaches for the plant. I shove it deep in the pocket of my pants.