Beloved

Author's Note:

'Beloved'

is an actual story, with *le gasp* a real, honest-to-god plot and character development. So if you haven't read the previous chapters yet, you will be entirely lost if you try to read this - For optimal enjoyment, please go read the rest of the series first. I promise it's worth it!<3

As always, I would like to remind my readers that the events in this story are fictional and should never,

EVER

, under any circumstances be attempted or reenacted in real life. Like most of the works under the Non-Consent/Reluctance category, the things portrayed here are a fun fantasy to explore in a book or piece of erotica, but would be abhorrent and incredibly illegal/immoral in reality. Please enjoy it as the work of fiction it is!

For this chapter in particular, I would also like it to be known that I do not condone violence against corn (in any of its forms!), no matter how tempting it may be. ;D

Thank you SO MUCH to my amazing friends who are helping to proofread this, they are absolutely amazing and I owe them SO much when it comes to helping polish up my rough-ass words! You guys are the best!!!<3

If you enjoy my work, please consider following, commenting, or leaving a rating - It really helps me out!!! - I don't often reply, but I promise that every comment/bit of feedback gets read, so keep them coming!

And - on a similar note - to all of those who were like "BUT WHAT ABOUT RAND?!?!?!!!" in the comments on the last chapter...

Happy reading! ;D

xoxo,

G.M. Gardner<3

~~~~~~~~~~~~

FUCK.

That was the only thought my stunned brain could seem to hold on to as I stared in horror down the hallway.

Or rather... what was left of it.

All that remained of the tall windows were a few shards clinging for dear life to the edges like jagged teeth, the rest reduced to twisted pieces of metal and chunks of glass that weren't just littering the floor, but

embedded

in it, spiraling sharply up out of the wood like snakes waiting to strike.

Bloody streaks of spray paint dripped grotesquely down every wall, the one opposite that gaping maw also sporting the horrifically crunched-in silhouette of the front of a car, the sooty streaks around the edges and bits of yellow glass clinging to the smashed sheetrock hinting that it hadn't driven away without a few scratches of its own.

Every single keypad had been demolished without mercy, sparks flying dangerously out of the exposed wires to dance over the papers scattered out of the open office doorway. I could just see the tattered remnants of the huge mattress through the broken bedroom door, strips of black and gray fabric strewn haphazardly around, the crumpled remains of pillows sprouting feathers on the floor.

The only thing stopping the scene being straight out of a horror movie was the bright sunshine flooding the hall, its cheerful glow sending tiny rainbows skittering away from all those little shards of shimmering glass as if trying to sugarcoat just how bad the damage was.

It was almost enough to make me toss in the towel, to retreat back to the panic room with my tail between my legs and wait for Grant to wake up so we could endure this necessary evil together.

Almost.

What kept my feet firmly planted was a memory.

I'd never been married, wouldn't pretend to know firsthand the heartbreak of having a life partner so cruelly torn away. But when I was just a few years out of college, one of my uncles on my mom's side had died unexpectedly - A middle-aged, middle-of-the-night heart attack that nobody had seen coming, least of all my aunt.

I only vaguely remembered his funeral, but I would never forget going to their house afterwards. How I'd noticed my aunt sneaking off while everyone was busy setting out casseroles and followed her upstairs to find her sitting on their bed crying, her shoulders slumped and one of those old, ratty flannel shirts my uncle had always worn around the farm clutched to her chest.

I had thankfully had the good sense to lock the door, and I'd sat with her until she could breathe again, then asked tearfully if there was anything I could do.

"Make me forget, Katie,"

she had begged brokenly, holding my hand so tightly I'd thought it would break.

"Forget waking up to him like that, forget him laying in that coffin... Let me only remember him alive, please..."

I'd never felt so helpless as I did in that moment. So damn

guilty

, because there was literally nothing I could say or do to help ease her suffering.

I'd seen that same unimaginable pain in Grant's eyes, and I wasn't about to let him endure an even worse version of that same horror. Wasn't going to risk his psyche snapping like a twig when it was well within my power to save him from ever seeing his husband like...

that

.

Not that I really wanted to see Rand's body myself, but - sick as it might sound - I

needed

to. Needed the increasingly gruesome images that my overactive imagination was cooking up with sadistic glee to be replaced with something that was at least real, for the sake of my own sanity.

Do you really, kitten?

I literally jumped, that familiar voice echoing through my mind as Imaginary Rand stepped back out of the shadows to raise an eyebrow at me.

Speaking of insanity...

"Oh hi, Boss," I said conversationally, as I sized up the obstacle course of debris. "Back to bother me again, huh? Still got unfinished business?"

Imaginary Rand ignored the question, nodding towards the panic room.

Go back. Now.

"No can do," I answered, taking a tentative step into the chaos. "Got to take care of some business of my own, Boss. Don't worry, I'll be quick."

Don't go alone,

the ghost of the giant ordered curtly.

Wait for help, kitten.

"No phone, remember?" I reminded him, as I sidestepped a chunk of metal nearly the size of my arm. "Grant can't come with me... Not exactly a lot of options, y'know?"

Plenty of options,

Imaginary Rand said bluntly, and I swear to god I could see him ticking off his fingers one-by-one.

Go find pup's phone. Look for mine. Hunker down. Wait for help-

"Help isn't coming," I said flatly. "Either I go down there, or nobody does."

Then nobody does,

he answered, just as flatly.

Go

back,

kitten.

"You're not in charge anymore!" I cried, my frustration floating away through the ruined windows. "You're fucking

DEAD

! I don't have to listen to you, so just

FUCK OFF

!"

Imaginary Rand's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, and I found myself standing still as a statue in the midst of the wreckage, waiting like a crazy person for the figment to either tell me off or try to force me to obey.

But no.

True to character, the ghost of the giant just gave me a short nod and turned away, fading into the back of my mind as he took on the role of silent observer once more.

"Thanks, Boss," I called after him, getting the spectral equivalent of a shrug in response.

One glance down the basement stairwell was enough to extinguish any last trace of hope I could scrape up. I barely noticed the smashed keypad and the streaks of spray paint, didn't care about the colorful scraps of fabric littering the lower hallway.

All I could see was the bullet hole splintered through the center of the half-open bedroom door.

My glimpse of crimson on the carpet beyond lasted only a split second before I spun around and stumbled out into the driveway, barely making it to the gravel before my protein shake made a noisy reappearance. It wasn't any more pleasant on the way back up, and it took another round of retching - and more than a few tears - before I recovered enough to stand up straight again, wiping my mouth as I headed determinedly back to the basement stairs.

I wavered one last time at the top of them, and Imaginary Rand poked his head out just far enough to suggest gently,

Not too late, kitten. Could go back. Wait for-

"I said

NO

," I snapped, forcing myself to move.

One step.

Two.

I kept my hand on the banister and my gaze on my feet as I descended, not fully trusting my shaky legs to find the way on their own. As I reached the bottom I closed my eyes, sucking in one last breath before I called out, "Boss? You in there?"

I knew it was stupid.

But it still felt like the right move, and I waited through a full minute of silence before pushing the door open and forcing myself to look around.

My bedroom was just as much of a write-off as the rest of the house, but only one part of the wreckage mattered at all, my hands flying to my mouth with a gasp as I saw...

Playing cards scattered like petals.

Bloody splashes of red strewn everywhere.

Paleness as far as the eye could see.

I stared in complete shock at the unstained cardstock, the gruesome-looking tatters of my favorite red dress, the conspicuously empty expanse of cream carpet in the middle of the room where Rand's broken body should have been sprawled.

Should

have been.

Because instead of the murder scene to end all murder scenes, the only hints that the giant had ever even been in this room at all were the rumpled blankets still laying in a heap in the corner and a few personal effects scattered across the floor.

What the...?!

Heart pounding, I rushed forward to look under the bed. Searched the tiny bathroom. Rummaged frantically through the mess on the floor.

Nothing.

Not so much as a drop of blood to explain what might have happened, vandalism the only obvious crime that had been committed in this room since the last time I was in it.

I dashed for the stairs, trying to take them two at a time and tripping for my trouble. As I put a hand out to steady myself, one of my fingers went right through the wall, and I cried out in surprise and yanked it back, my pulse kicking even further into overdrive as I realized what I'd just found.

Bullet holes.

A handful of missed shots, distressing the drywall in a distinct pattern that had the next one always hitting a few feet further up the stairwell than the last. Almost as if...

"They were shooting at a moving target," I whisper, running my fingertips over the hole closest to the top of the stairs, which had hit roughly at the top of my head or - more accurately - at the level of Rand's massive chest. "

Oh... my... god...

"

'Nice shot, handsome!'

Lindy's laughter rang shrilly in my ears, and I cursed myself for not recognizing the mockery in her flippant words as I squeezed my eyes shut, searching for the 'ghost' of the giant to find him watching my shock with a fond, quiet smile.

Told you, kitten.

Hard to kill.

I skidded out into the hallway, ignoring the shards of glass that flew up to bite my bare legs as I looked around frantically for anything that might tell me what had happened next.

At first glance there was nothing to be found, but then a smear of dark red caught my eye high up on one of the jagged pieces of window still clinging to its frame. It was the perfect height to be around Rand's upper arm, but as I went to investigate something even brighter caught my eye a little lower down.

I freed the snagged thread of cheerful yellow silk that was waving in the breeze as if trying to get my attention, the tiny bit of luck left in it tingling my fingertips as I whispered my thanks to the fragile bit of gossamer and followed its lead out through the skeleton of the windows.

I peered around the deserted driveway, cupping my hands around my mouth as I called out loudly, "Boss? Are you out here? Can you hear me?!"

Silence.

Nothing reached my ears but the eternal rustling of the corn, a stray gust of wind making the desiccated stalks shudder and shake as if mocking my attempts at finding the giant.

I hurried over to search the battered remains of Grant and Rand's vehicles, peering around them, underneath them for any sign at all of where the giant might have gone. I came up empty-handed and quickly looked around the rest of the driveway for more clues, that cruelly doused ember in my chest glowing brighter by the second because there

weren't

any.

No crimson mixed into the gravel. No signs of a struggle. Not a single trace of evidence that Rand had met some kind of violent end once he'd made it out of the house.

Maybe he had the same idea we did?

I went to the edge of the cornfield that bordered the driveway on all sides, starting at the far left and walking slowly along the edge, keeping my eyes peeled for any trace of-

There!

Right there!

A clear trail of deep footprints sunk into the soft earth, a flurry of bent stalks leading out into the field that could have only been made by the broadest of shoulders. On the edge of a torn leaf was a thick smear of dried blood that matched the one on the window, too high up to have come from anyone or anything else.

I didn't see a body laying out there, and - to my surprise - there were also no obvious signs that Rand had been pursued, no second set of tracks heading out into the endless ocean of cornstalks.

I can fix that.

Without a second thought, I dove into the rows at a run, barely making it ten steps before Imaginary Rand surged forcefully back into my mind to hold up a cautioning hand.

Bad idea, kitten.

"Oh fuck off," I said in annoyance, even as I pulled up in answer. "I know you're not an actual ghost, Boss, so you can cut the whole '

sage advice from the great beyond

' act, okay?"

Imaginary Rand seemed to consider that for a moment, then shrugged.

Nah. Too much fun.

"Speaking of which, what the hell

are

you, anyway?" I asked, giving him a glare that was just aimed off into empty space. "Please don't try to tell me the Boss is using telepathy to talk to me from out there-" I waved vaguely at the corn, "-somewhere?"

Nah.

A hint of a smile danced around the corners of the giant's mouth as he reached for his chest, swinging it open like a door to reveal my own face hiding inside.

Subconscious cosplay, kitten.

"That's not

better

!" I hissed, earning a quiet chuckle in return. "What, do you think I won't listen to

myself

?"

Imaginary Rand just gave me a

look

, and I winced guiltily as I recalled all the times I'd ignored that little voice in the back of my head over the last little bit of forever.

Point taken.

"Fiiine," I sighed, grudgingly stepping back out of the corn. "So what's the plan then, BossMe?"

You tell me.

Imaginary Rand procured a comfy couch from somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind, settling in and making himself right at home.

What's step one, kitten?

I was about to make a snarky retort when that familiar phrase made it finally click as to

why

my mind had chosen to cloak itself in the garb of the giant, out of all the possible people it could have picked to get my attention.

It would be easy to assume that it was because I had been grieving him, or because of his natural air of authority. But while there was definitely some truth to both of those things, I was pretty sure it was based more in one very simple fact.

Rand treated me like a goddamn adult.

The second the Boss had walked back in the door, I'd been upgraded from Grant's pretty little housecat all the way up to a functioning member of the household faster than I could blink. From working on slush files all the way down to stirring my own coffee, the giant hadn't once stepped in to help unless I asked him to, never talked down to me or so much as

hinted

that he thought I was anything other than completely capable of handling my own shit.

Because I

was

.

So instead of arguing I dusted off the side of myself that I always let lead at work, straightening my shoulders in that managerial way as I repeated the question I loved to throw at my team whenever we took on a new project.

What's step one?

I looked back towards the house, finding the answer in how those sparks were still flying dangerously, the papers below them shivering in the breeze as if frightened at the threat of being reduced to ashes.

I shivered in turn at the thought of being halfway across the field and seeing a plume of smoke on the horizon, the chances of the panic room being soundproof

and

fireproof slim to none and the odds of my being able to get Grant out in time even worse.

Okay, easy enough

, I thought, adding

'Step One - Don't Let Puppydog Die In A Fire'

to the tippity-top of my mental to-do list.

What's next?

I took quick stock, jotting down a handful of action items and sorting them in order of urgency, double-checking my list before highlighting the top to-do like it was the first task in an RPG questline.

"Alright, BossMe," I said, lifting my chin stubbornly and marching back towards the house. "Let's fucking do this."

That's my girl.

I knew better than to try to deal with the keypads directly, heading straight down to the basement in search of the electrical panel. It wasn't in my bedroom, and the hallway walls were also bare, so I pushed through the broken door of the gym and flipped on the lights.

I'd never had occasion to come in here before, and I was surprised to find the room was divided into two distinctly equitable zones - One stocked with a veritable army of weights and well-loved exercise equipment, and the other featuring equally well-used hardwood floors and a ballet bar along with a large treadmill set tidily off to the side.

The amount of damage that could be done to dumbbells and squat racks was minimal, the defacement of this space mostly limited to the spray paint splashed liberally across the equipment and the broken wall of mirrors, and I frowned at the letters scrawled there as I suddenly noticed something strange.

None of what I'd seen written on the walls - either here or upstairs - had a single thing to do with being gay.

Odd, to say the least.

I had no doubt that Lindy would have happily plucked such low-hanging fruit, but all the hateful words splashed around like poison were either direct threats or Anti-Semitic in nature, clearly meant to target Grant and no-one else.

Maybe puppydog's closet should get some credit?

I mused, running my eyes over the sky-high capital letters spelling out a sickening slur I'd rather not repeat.

'Cause I'm pretty sure it saved your ass, Boss...

It was hard to target someone's loved ones when you didn't know they existed, the mystery of why Rand hadn't been chased explained perfectly by Lindy and her goon assuming he was just another one of Grant's prisoners, rather than his husband.

Still sucks,

commented Imaginary Rand, and I gave a noncommittal hum as I headed for the electrical panel on the far wall, flipping off every breaker without bothering to read the labels.

That scorched-earth solution to my little pyrotechnics problem worked perfectly, and I made a quick stop at my bedroom to rustle up a pair of mostly-intact jeans - a.k.a.

'Step Two - Procure Proper Pants'

- before heading back upstairs to start on the next order of business.

'Step Three - Did You Really Check EVERYWHERE?'

turned out to also be a simple enough task. I did my due diligence to make sure Lindy wasn't hiding in the closet and Rand wasn't bleeding out in the middle of the bedroom floor, and as I poked my head into the office to confirm it was also unoccupied, a flash of bright orange caught my eye amidst the chaos.

The walkie-talkie was a bit dented but still functional, and I crossed my fingers that Rand had hung on to the other one as I said into the mic, "Boss? Can you hear me? Come in, Boss!"