ROAR Read online

  If only he and Tori had headed home earlier.

  If only he and Tori had stayed at Gunnar’s thirty minutes more. How many times had he tortured himself with those thoughts about that horrific moment…

  Too late.

  Images of Tori’s bloodied and battered face flashed before his eyes as bile burned the back of his throat. Forcing deep breaths, he blew the air out through his mouth—well, when he remembered to breathe, that is. Despite efforts to keep his gaze averted, as he crept closer, he saw what appeared to be four vehicles involved in the pileup. No, five. Damn it. One was rammed under a tractor-trailer, practically invisible except for the trunk. Had any of its occupants survived?

  Of course, there were fates worse than death. He hoped whoever was in that vehicle hadn’t seen it coming. No skid marks. Probably had no clue what happened to them.

  Unfortunately, his beloved Tori had seen what was coming—not only the stopped eighteen-wheeler in front of them, but also the pickup truck that slammed into the Mercedes’ passenger door as Kristoffer attempted to avoid a similar fate to the poor souls in that car over there. Unknowingly, his knee-jerk response had put Tori in the direct path of the truck that night.

  Almost past the wreck. Eyes straight ahead.

  He managed not to see anything more of the wreckage, until a police officer held up a gloved hand for him to halt right beside one of the mangled cars. His heart hammered, robbing him of breath.

  Don’t look. Don’t look, damn it!

  Seconds later, an ambulance pulled up on the right-hand shoulder and crossed in front of him to park beside the tractor-trailer. As if in slow motion, he watched the crew exit the emergency vehicle and remove a stretcher from the back.

  Kristoffer’s chest ached, but he couldn’t turn his head away. In strobe-light effect, his mind flashed between this scene and one on that dark night four years ago.

  Stay in the moment. Don’t let it consume you again.

  He tried to remember his training with Gunnar Larson, not only a well-respected Dominant and Whip Master in the Colorado BDSM alternative lifestyle community, but also his first cousin. He’d spent a lot of time mentoring him on the control of his mind and body. With supreme effort, Kristoffer took several more complete breaths and shifted his focus to the guardrail. Not a mark on the silvery steel, unlike the one his car had rammed off I-70 four years ago.

  Don’t go back there.

  The sound of crumpling metal assailed his ears.

  Tori’s scream for him to stop was cut short, followed by the deadly crunch of metal until all that remained was an eerie silence inside the car.

  He shook off the memory with great effort seconds before the low rumble of the Jaws of Life cutting off the roof of a vehicle bombarded him—another sound that sometimes woke him from a deep sleep to this day. As victims were extricated from one of the cars beside him, he turned his head toward the valley beyond the guardrail.

  Until a sudden thought occurred to him. What if he forced himself to view today’s wreckage? He didn’t know these people. Tragic though their suffering might be, perhaps these images would replace his own memories from that heartbreaking night. Would that help him bury the past once and for all?

  Kristoffer turned toward the sound, mercifully finding two police officers holding up a white sheet to shield him and others from witnessing the gruesome sight. Had one of the victims screamed the same way Tori had that night? He didn’t remember much about the aftermath, but her horrified shriek revisited him during flashbacks that continued to haunt his days—and most especially his nights.

  No one seemed to be paying any attention to the occupants trapped under the semi. He wished they’d hidden that vehicle instead. Awareness slammed into him as to why they weren’t concerning themselves with that car, and he swallowed down more bile. With any luck, new nightmares would now blot out the accident involving the love of his life.

  Focus on something else. Like tonight’s meeting you’re going to be late for. Gunnar is counting on you.

  Work had kept him from losing his mind the past four years. Safe, unemotional business. He went over the directives Gunnar had given him this afternoon. His objective was clear—determine if the purchase of a successful BDSM training academy would be a sound investment for Gunnar’s portfolio. Far from his cousin’s typical financial venture, this one seemed highly illogical and more sentimental.

  His cousin had mentored a number of well-respected Dominants over the years. Mistress Grant, who’d been running Denver’s Masters at Arms Club for the past several years, came to mind as one of his most proficient students. Nearly a decade ago, she’d introduced Gunnar to Damián Orlando, a fellow veteran who had been wounded in Iraq. Gunnar had taken the Marine amputee under his wing as well. Of course, his cousin trusted both Damián and Grant with his life and allowed them inside his home and dungeon.

  Kristoffer constantly reminded his cousin that he needed to be extremely careful whom he invited inside his inner circle. But Gunnar hadn’t had it easy when he returned from the war and had a soft spot for struggling veterans.

  He also had a soft spot for other causes, including a school for girls in Afghanistan run by a former soldier. Kristoffer knew Gunnar didn’t reinvest every penny into Forseti Group paramilitary operations. His government contracts aside, he also diverted a substantial amount of assets to humanitarian projects.

  My job is to make sure Gunnar earns enough to continue whatever operations or activities he chooses.

  An officer whistled, bringing him back to the present. He waved Kristoffer onto the shoulder of the highway, and a sense of relief overcame him as he left the horrific scene behind and made his way toward Denver. He fought hard to focus on the road to keep himself from being involved in a similar accident—again.

  * * *

  Only ten minutes late for the scheduled tour, he pulled into the parking lot and cut the Jag’s engine. Staring at the warehouse-like building that was the home of the prestigious academy, he mentally prepared himself to go in like the tiger of finance Gunnar expected him to be—confident, authoritative, and ruthless when it came to closing the deal.

  Without a doubt, this place would require more hands-on involvement than Gunnar had time for at the moment. His covert operations in Afghanistan were heating up after the massive withdrawal of American troops. Too many lives were at stake.

  Normally, Gunnar gravitated toward safe, conservative investments as close to blue chip as possible in this day and age. Financial planning that required no personal involvement. What on earth did he see in this BDSM training academy? To Kristoffer, a BDSM relationship was best cultivated in a deeply personal setting between two like-minded adults. Ideally, a Dominant trained his own submissive or bottom. Gunnar’s interest in the lifestyle differed significantly from his own.

  Kristoffer and Tori were among a small number of people Gunnar had given instruction to in his home dungeon near Breckenridge—and were far less into the lifestyle than the others. He and his wife hadn’t delved into even a Dominant/submissive dynamic, but enjoyed some lighter aspects of kink. Gunnar had stressed the importance of safety, making sure Kristoffer didn’t do any damage while tying Tori up or doing light floggings in the privacy of their home.

  Whips, knives, suspension, and inflicting pain or harsh punishment didn’t fit their dynamic at all, but were Gunnar’s forte. He admired his cousin’s talent and expertise with the whip and suspension. Witnessing him in action was a thing of beauty, and sometimes Kristoffer had taken Tori to the dungeon to watch with him, but she had no interest in trying those things.

  Gunnar’s sadistic tendencies while playing with a willing masochist, always consensually, made Kristoffer pity any enemy deserving this man’s wrath.

  The skills Kristoffer had learned for Tori were rendered useless when he lost her. Only in the past couple of years had Kristoffer ventured into Gunnar’s dungeon to practice and learn new Dom skills. He’d never hooked up with anyone. but used it
more as a way to release some of his frustration. Gunnar usually found a Dom willing to let Kristoffer practice on his submissive. No strings, no sex, and no guilt.

  Without a doubt, he owed Gunnar his life and sanity several times over. If Gunnar wanted to open a tent selling arctic moss in the middle of the Sahara Desert, then Kristoffer’s job was to negotiate the best deal possible and make sure the venture made a huge profit. What else did he have to do with his time since the accident? Focusing on Gunnar’s financial interests provided him with great personal satisfaction.

  Gunnar saved my life.

  Steeling himself after taking a few more minutes to regroup, he stopped stalling and opened the car door to quickly traverse the parking lot. The heels of his polished, black leather wingtips clicked a staccato beat on the pavement. Continuing his assessment of the property, he saw no visible cracks or potholes in the asphalt lot’s surface. His attention turned to the building. The exterior appeared sound as well.

  The moment Kristoffer walked inside, he recognized Brad Anderson. The headmaster at the academy had a commanding presence with his height and muscular body, but it was Anderson’s gregarious smile that threw Kristoffer off-center for a moment.

  Anderson greeted him with a firm handshake as Kristoffer explained about the pile-up near Georgetown. He regretted having held these people up even longer while he indulged his case of rattled nerves.

  The headmaster waved away his concerns and addressed the group, promptly reminding them all why they were here. “Let me explain the concept behind The Denver Academy. While we run both submissive and Dominant training programs, tonight I will focus solely on the submissive aspect. Our training consists of an intensive six-week course that tests and refines the men and women chosen to attend our classes. Each night, they begin with a formal lesson, then move on to a practice session critiqued by a panel of Dominants, and finish with a personalized practicum centered on the individual’s interests and talents.”

  He went on to explain that an auction was held at the end of each of the first five weeks where fully vetted Dominants were permitted to bid on the submissive trainees and take them on a consensual excursion outside the walls of the academy for one afternoon and evening. Gunnar had mentioned having participated in one of the auctions for the initial training class, but Kristoffer neither asked for nor expected any details.

  Kristoffer learned that the sixth auction was reserved for trainers at the school to work on whatever they deemed important, but the students weren’t told in advance about the last one being any different than the other five.

  Anderson continued. “In every way, we strive to prepare our students to become skilled submissives who are not only confident in their talents, but also highly sought after by the BDSM community worldwide.”

  As he listened to Anderson field a question about the origins of the school, Kristoffer surveyed the other potential investors, sizing up his competition. The one who had asked the question about the first academy in southern California wouldn’t be a pushover. His gaze then fell on a brown-haired woman with librarian glasses who cast sidelong glances at Anderson. Did the two of them have some kind of personal connection that might complicate a bidding war? She seemed oddly familiar, but he was certain they’d never met. He noticed her respectful and attentive demeanor—laying silent bets she was a submissive.

  I once had someone look at me that way.

  Anderson’s response to another question forced Kristoffer to stop allowing his thoughts to stray. Focus, man. He must still be rattled by the accident. He never let his personal life intrude on business matters. Hell, he had no personal life anymore.

  What had Anderson just said?

  The headmaster continued as he motioned them to follow him down a long hallway. “We take the privacy of our students very seriously, but I’ve informed the class of tonight’s agenda, and they’ve graciously agreed to allow an observation of the lesson.”

  This should be interesting.

  Just before entering the classroom, they were given instructions to remain silent and line up against the wall to the left. Anderson stood like a sentinel in the doorway, apparently keeping an eye on things both inside the room and in the hallway. One of the last to enter, Kristoffer was impressed by how everything had been set up, as if he’d walked into a graduate school class. Gunnar had given Kristoffer purchase-bid guidelines based on his earlier observations of the academy, but wanted more detailed information before deciding whether to purchase.

  The students seated in the classroom all seemed intent on the front of the room, and Kristoffer’s gaze roamed to where the instructor conducted what appeared to be an anatomy class with two nude models. The female model reminded him of…

  What the…

  Doctor Pamela Jeffrey?

  It was her. His eyes opened wider. Seriously? A little more than two weeks ago, she’d passionately shared information with the Forseti Group team about the state of things in the international humanitarian aid hospital where she’d been working until recently. The hospital was yet another of Gunnar’s charities intended to help win the hearts and minds in Afghanistan. Doctor Jeffrey had also brought Gunnar a package from Heidi Rutherford, his cousin’s old flame, who now ran a school for Muslim girls Gunnar supported in the same province.

  Gone were Doctor Jeffrey’s baggy sweater and corduroys that had hidden her body type completely. Hell, gone was every bloody stitch of her clothing. What was she doing standing naked next to an equally nude man in front of a class of submissives in training?

  Ogling her was unprofessional and rude, but her flawless skin under the bright lights transfixed him—or had he placed a mental spotlight of his own on her? A natural redhead, judging by the neatly trimmed curls covering the mound at the apex of her thighs.

  Turn the fuck away, man!

  Heat bore into him as he did so, shifting his feet. He raised his gaze again to her face—thinking that should be safe territory—but found her staring back at him, wide-eyed. Not quite as shocked as he perhaps, but definitely surprised.

  The notion of sitting across Gunnar’s boardroom table at Forseti Group ever again without seeing her as she appeared before him tonight would be difficult, if not impossible, but he doubted they’d be seeing much of each other. Gunnar had finished deposing her about her recent experiences in Afghanistan. And she’d pleaded her case for humanitarian aid, been granted her request, and had gone on her way.

  Straight to this prestigious BDSM academy, apparently.

  Christ. This image will be branded on my retinas forever.

  To her credit, she composed herself quickly, standing straighter as she turned away to stare toward the class. Still, he watched a flush creep from her chest, up her neck, and into her freckled cheeks. While he couldn’t see the freckles from here, he’d noticed them the other day. Only then he’d thought them cute. Not sexy.

  Until now.

  Wait a minute. Why did he find them sexy now? Tori had ruined him for any other woman since he’d met her in college twenty years ago.

  Until now.

  Wrong. So wrong to be thinking these thoughts about another woman.

  Doctor Jeffrey locked her jaw and kept her mouth in a straight line. The no-nonsense instructor handed a long wooden stick to a young male classmate who then pointed to the sexual and erogenous zones on both the man’s muscular body and the physician’s softer body. She’d hidden her assets well—until tonight.

  Why the hell wouldn’t she? She was a professional woman, a medical doctor, for Christ’s sake. No doubt she’d had to fight long and hard in her career to keep her colleagues’ and patients’ minds from straying the way Kristoffer’s was now.

  What on earth was she doing here? Was she a submissive trainee at the academy or merely moonlighting as a body model tonight? She’d said during the meeting at Gunnar’s that she planned to return to Afghanistan as soon as she could obtain a new assignment. She couldn’t possibly need money this badly, not that aid w
orkers were known to bring in huge salaries.

  When the pointer touched her pink areola, his entire being zeroed in on the lesson, and his cock stirred to life.

  Bloody hell!

  Guilt washed over him. He had no more luck in averting his gaze now than he’d had on the highway at the accident scene earlier this evening.

  Her nipple peaked, as if reaching out to the pointer. The room grew unbearably hot as sweat dampened the back of his starched collar. Kristoffer reached up unobtrusively and undid the top button of his shirt so as not to call attention to this lapse in his own professional decorum. At least now he could breathe a little easier.

  Realizing he ogled her still, he forced himself to shift his focus to what the student was saying as he pointed out her more than ample attributes. Yes, this was definitely an anatomy class. The student had been instructed to point out the erogenous zones in the female body. No, not just any female’s body—Doctor Jeffrey’s. The pointer moved to the rapidly pounding pulse in her neck.

  Seeing such an attractive woman standing naked before him gave him any number of inappropriate, unprofessional musings, but horniness was no reason for him to stray down this dangerous road. What he was experiencing was pure, unadulterated lust borne of long-term neglect of a certain part of his anatomy.

  An appendage that would remain neglected.

  Would she be asked to advise them on her perspective as a student here before Gunnar made a decision as to whether he would purchase this institution?

  He hoped not.

  The sooner he regained control of his aberrant thoughts, the better.

  Hell, what hadn’t he seen? Well, her backside had thankfully been hidden from view.

  As if the unknowingly sadistic instructor read his mind, she asked the two models to turn around. Glued to the beautiful display before him, any attempt to turn away failed miserably. He couldn’t if his life depended on it.