Wicked Love - Michelle Dare Page 0,16

that I can be free of it.

“I’ll never be free of it,” I snap.

“Yes Carson, you will,” he insists. “It’s already pushing through bits and pieces through your dreams. It’s like pulling a band-aid off slowly, and dealing with the pain in tiny increments rather than pulling it off quickly and allowing the pain to subside.”

I nod. “Okay,” I sigh, “Let’s do it.”

“Get comfortable,” he instructs, “Take off your boots.”

“Why?” I ask straightening up.

He chuckles good-naturedly, “Trust me, I’m not going to ask you to take off anything other than your boots. I want you to get comfortable on the sofa, put the pillows under your head and neck, and then I’m going to sit down here,” he says, as he walks over to the end of the sofa.

I pull off my boots, and lay back against the velvety pillows, scooting back to get comfortable. He takes a seat at the end of the sofa, and pulls my feet onto his lap.

“Your feet are a hub of pressure points. Did you know that?” he asks, as his fingers start a slow, methodical press and rub massage on one of my sock-covered feet.

“Umm, yeah, I’ve heard that,” I reply, enjoying the foot massage. “Should I close my eyes?” I ask.

“Whatever you want, but don’t fall asleep on me,” he replies, clicking a remote, which pipes soft instrumental music into the room. “You need to be deeply relaxed, but if you start to fall asleep, I can pinch you right here,” he says, pressing a place on my insole, which immediately causes me to jump a bit.

“I get it, I get it,” I reply, “Just keep up with the foot massage, Doc. Especially around the ball of my foot. I think it’s really working.”

He chuckles again. “Never knew a woman who didn’t enjoy a nice foot massage.”

“You still don’t,” I say, my eyes closing.

He puts me though some slow breathing techniques, and true to his word, I’m totally in a deep relaxed state.

“Tell me about the end of October of last year, Carson. Did you have special plans to celebrate Halloween?” he asks softly. “I checked the weather for that week last year. It was a late fall; the leaves hadn’t totally left the trees yet, and it was a week of crisp, cool sunny days, wasn’t it?”

I nod. “Yes, it was. I remember how the smell of fall was everywhere as I went to and from my classes that week. I skipped my last class on the 28th. I never did that, but I did that day because of the party.”

“Party?”

“Yeah, One of Shelby’s friends who wasn’t in college, was having a Halloween party at their house over in Washington Heights on a Thursday night. She said I should go, but to make sure I wore a costume because it could get a little raunchy.”

“And is that what you liked?” he asks.

I giggle. “No, but I know Shelby and the people she keeps company with, you see. So, I was hoping to get a few connections for the class I’d been accepted in for the following semester. A Research Journalism senior level class. I wanted to blow the Professor who’d approved my admission away with my project.”

“Tell me about your project, Carson.”

“It started out to be a research on underground sex clubs in the city. But after what I’d seen at Sanctuary, and then the night of the costume party, it turned out to be about something else.”

“Oh yeah?” Krew asks softly. “Can you tell me what that something else was?”

I feel my chest tighten just a bit, and when it does, Krew presses his thumb against the ball of my foot, and moves it in a circular motion over and over until I release a deep, cleansing breath and feel the weight lifted with my next words.

“Sex trafficking of underage girls and boys.”

13

Halloween Last Year

“It’s open!” I yell, “Come on in.”

Shelby pops her head into my dorm room, taking a look at my costume. “Oh My God,” she says, looking me up and down, “You may wish you selected something else,” she comments.

“Why?” I ask. “You said it’s a Halloween Costume party, the theme being a character from a classic book, so what’s wrong with this?”

“Alice in Wonderland?” she asks. “Umm . . . you look like you’re fifteen. Where’d you get the wig?”

“It came with the outfit,” I reply, “Well look at you? Who the hell are you supposed to be? Madonna?”

Shelby is dressed in black leather from the