WITHOUT RESTRAINT Facebook Launch Party Pt. 2

Here's the second section of my contest to win prizes I'll be giving away on my Facebook Launch Party:

There will be two questions based on this section. For each question, the first two people to respond with the correct answer will win a prize. So there are a total of four winners for this scene.

Please note that you can't participate if you're under 18, because this content is strictly adult. 

You can buy Without Restraint on Amazon and Barnes and Noble, among others.

SCENE 2

“Judging by that kiss, it must have gone well,” Cap observed as red taillights disappeared.

“Yeah. Alex surprised me. Subs don’t often manage that.”

“Did she?” They turned back toward the big brick Colonial.

“She challenged me to hand-to-hand.” Reading Cap’s lifted brows, Frank added, “No kicks or blows. It was more of a judo thing. Two out of three throws.” He felt his mouth stretch into a wicked grin. “Winner fucks the loser.”

Cap laughed as they walked back into the house. The basement soundproofing was good; no audible cries or thumps sounded from downstairs. “Sounds like you won either way. I assume you did win?”

“Oh, yeah. After I underestimated her on the first engagement and she put me on my ass. She’s good. Got me in a joint lock. Could have snapped my elbow like a bread stick.”

“I’m not surprised. She’s been training with Ted for years.”

“That’s what she said. I gather he’s something of a badass.”

“Former Green Beret.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I piss him off. He’s pretty fucking protective.” They passed through the living room with its stone fireplace and elegant wine leather furniture.

Just beyond that, the Millers’ kitchen looked something out of the Food Network programs Frank had grown addicted to. White-painted cabinets piped in burgundy surrounded stainless steel appliances that testified to Joanna’s love of cooking.

Cap walked over to the coffeemaker that steamed and burbled on the gleaming black Silestone counter. Frank inhaled appreciatively. The air smelled like fresh beans from somewhere they grew expensive coffee. “What’s the story with this ex-Dom of hers?”

“Like I said, he was a dickhead.” The old SEAL turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a tiny white pitcher of cream, then rattled around in drawers and cabinets looking for the sugar bowl, mugs, and a couple of spoons. “Most of us become Doms because it turns us on when a woman gives herself. Then you have your plain vicious bastards. It can sometimes be tricky for a sub to tell the hardasses from the assholes until things get the hell out of hand. That’s what happened with Alex—fell in with a Dom who liked to use his fists even more than a crop.”

“Her Dom beat her?”

“Once. Only once. And then she kicked his ass.” He poured them each a cup. “That’s why Ted kept giving you the stink eye. He feels guilty he didn’t figure out what Gary Ames was before the prick started using his fists.”

Frank swore viciously.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I said when she told me.” He paused, doctoring his coffee as Frank did the same. “For what it’s worth, Alex made ol’ Gar pay, but the cocksucker did get in some nasty shots—including kicks—before she managed to put him down. He had thirty pounds and two inches on her, so she had to work at it.”

“You and Ted bury him in the county landfill?”

“I was seriously tempted, but Ted convinced me jail would suck at my age. I hate it when Ted’s the voice of reason. Sure sign you’ve fucked up somewhere.”

“I admire your self-control.”

“Wasn’t easy. For what it’s worth, Alex made sure the little shit was charged with domestic violence.”

“Good for her. Did he get any time?”

“Probation. Apparently he’d never beaten the hell out of a woman before, so the judge decided to give him a stern talking-to.”

Frank wasn’t surprised. South Carolina law treated criminal domestic violence like one man beating another man in a bar, instead of the brutal act of betrayal it actually was. “So where does this future corpse live?”

“Sorry, ’fraid somebody beat you to it. Literally. Clubbed him like a baby seal a month ago.”

“And you say he’s not in the landfill?”

“Hey, don’t look at me. Alex’s daddy wasn’t exactly a fan either. Luckily, we were all in Columbia with ten thousand of our closest witnesses.” When Frank lifted his brows, he explained, “Her father’s the Harrison High football coach. They were playing Irmo.”

“Alex is Ken Rogers’s daughter?” The man was practically a legend. He’d led the Harrison Hawks to four state championships and was universally worshiped by every man who’d ever played for him. In Morgan County, that seemed to be most of them.

“Yup.” Cap bared his teeth over the rim of his cup. “As for the douchebag ex, his murder hasn’t been solved. Hell, they only managed to ID him from his tatts.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Oh, it was. The killer did a really thorough job on his head with some kind of thick, heavy object. Flashlight or a rolling pin or something equally well deserved.”

Frank toasted Cap with his mug. “Long may he rot.”